


Stars In The Water, Blood On Our Hands

by grumpybell



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Octavia Blake, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpybell/pseuds/grumpybell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ark knows that people have survived on the ground, but they don't know anything about them. Now, with time and oxygen running out, information on these people will be what saves their lives. </p>
<p>Clarke is sent down to spy on the grounders. </p>
<p>She's certainly not meant to fall in love.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>Nominated for Best Canon Fiction in The Bellarke Fanfiction Awards 2016</b>
  </p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Until You're Lost

  _"And you don't know what you got until it's gone._

_And you don't know who to love until you're lost."_

Her mother tells her about it in the same clinical manner that she uses to diagnose patients, like the information that there are _people_ on the ground, people who have survived all these years when they've been rocketing around in space, is just another mundane, quantifiable fact, and not absolutely mind boggling. She had thought, honestly, that the days her mother's ability to surprise her with just how collected and emotionless she could be had passed. But then Abby Griffin had told her, in the exact same tone she uses to tell Clarke that they're out of antiseptic wipes at the clinic, that there are people living on Earth and that life is very much sustainable down there.

Clarke is legitimately lost for words.

“I know this must be very surprising news,” Abby says and if Clarke wasn't busy trying to piece her brain back together, she'd probably say something snarky like, _Oh, is it?_

“And I've only been cleared to reveal this to you because of special circumstances.”

And there it is, really. Clarke should know better than to think her mother would share this with her without some sort of ulterior motive. Clarke is starting to wonder when she stopped being able to predict her oh-so-predictable mother.

“Your father has discovered a flaw in the Ark. We're running out of oxygen. The only viable solution is to return to Earth.”

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. She might be rusty, but she's still got some instinct. She waits for the kicker.

“Jaha would like to send you down in advance to scout.” She had been expecting something; she hadn't been expecting that. She's just turned 18. She's not exactly prime secret mission material. So she asks the most logical question, while simultaneously wondering if her cool reaction makes her too much her mother's daughter.

“Why me?”

“For a number of reasons.” Her mother's answer is prepared. Of course it is. “We decided quickly that it would be best to send a young adult, someone who could still pass for an innocent child,” Abby explains. Clarke is unsure if she should be offended that her mother is implying that Clarke _isn't_ innocent, but then, she'd be right.

“But we wanted whoever it was to possess a skill set that may be useful to these people. We don't have much information on their society, but it seems to be fairly... rural. There are no signs of new large buildings or advanced technology. For this reason, we felt medical knowledge could possibly be a big plus, something that may have been lost in the years on the ground.

“Besides the fact that you're the only one who fits that description, as you are my daughter, the Council trusts you. This is a sensitive mission, Clarke. We have to go to Earth, whether we want to or not. We don't have a choice in the matter. What we need to determine, is what we'll be faced with when we get there. We have certain counter measures we can employ if we know we won't receive a warm welcome.”

“What does that mean?” Clarke asks. It's important to ask for details with her mother. Abby has a habit of leaving out crucial bits of information to get her way.

“I'm not authorized to give you those details, Clarke. Just know that, if necessary, the people on the ground can be taken care of.” Abby pauses for a moment to let the words sink in and Clarke wonders, not for the first time, how her mother can talk about things like mass murder so casually.

“Now, we've got special equipment for you. You'll be in contact with us at all times, so don't worry, we won't let anything happen to you.”

“Right,” Clarke says, tempted to roll her eyes. She hasn't even said yes yet and Abby's moved on to logistics. Typical. After 18 years, she should probably stop expecting basic politeness from her mother.

In the end, she never even really gets a chance to say yes at all, because no one actually asks her if she's willing to do it. They all just assume. But Clarke doesn't protest. She's scared, obviously, but she's more curious than she is worried. She wants to see the ground. She doesn't think she'd ever forgive herself if she passed up an opportunity like this one.

They're sending her off in a sort of pod thing that Clarke doesn't know the name for and it's a little smaller than she would like. After all, this is the thing that has to stand up to Earth's atmosphere and her landing, or she's a goner. Her mother assures her it's safe, but it's not like stuff like this is exactly her mother's expertise.

She doesn't think about it much before she goes. She's not allowed to tell anyone, so it's life as normal until she's climbing into what is swiftly starting to feel like a metal coffin, hugging her parents goodbye. She reminds herself that it's not for long. They don't _have_ long. They'll be down on the ground with her in no time.

She gets the most stunning view of Earth when they launch her, and it's almost enough to make her forget to be afraid. All this would be worth it, just for this view. It's almost like a dream, quiet and gentle and breathless. There's nothing gentle about her landing. She has just enough time to realize she's probably going to hit water before her head gets slammed against the wall and all she sees is black.

 


	2. The Wolves

  _"The wolves are crying the old folks' folly,_

_and the live ones left behind can't make up their minds;_

_they can't wake up."_

He's supposed to kill her. That had been his intent when he'd gone out to search for the thing that had fallen from the sky, bright like a star, but much more dangerous. If there's anything living within, he's supposed to eliminate it. But she looks _just_ like the princess from the storybook his mother had handed down to him, a prized, valuable possession, and he... It's not that he can't; he just doesn't want to.

It's probably not a good enough excuse for actively saving her life, though. He could have left her. In only a matter of moments, she would have drowned. But he's here, instead, sitting in the sand and staring at the girl who looks somehow both like a princess and a warrior, with blood smeared on her face, trying to get the courage to kill her before she wakes up.

He doesn't manage it.

She blinks at him slowly, eyes focusing, and her face gives nothing away. She's young, maybe Octavia's age or a little older. He tells himself that's probably why this is hard, because, even though she looks nothing like his sister, her age automatically reminds him of her. She studies him for a surprisingly long time, saying nothing, then turns her head to look at the ocean, where her metal pod had sunk straight to the bottom.

“Well,” she says softly, her voice a little rough as she sits up. “I guess that could have gone better.” It startles him so much, he has to tamp down a smile, which he does, mentally scolding himself for even letting her get a word out. She's supposed to be dead and he's not supposed to like the sound of her voice.

“What's your name?” she asks, and meets his eyes. Hers are startlingly blue and calm, like the sky on a clear day or the flowers that grew in his mother's garden. He can't help but stare, blue eyes are rare with his people. Everything about her, really, is rare or nonexistent in his people, from her golden hair to her light skin to the soft curves of her body. She seems as unreal to him as the princess from the book, come down from her tower.

“Mute?” she questions, but there's a teasing light in her eyes, one he shouldn't like.

“Maybe I don't speak English,” he suggests and regrets it immediately because she smiles and her whole face lights up and he's never going to kill her.

“That would be unfortunate for me, I guess.”

“Coming down here at all is probably unfortunate for you,” he says seriously, because he feels the need to warn her, this creature from the sky who smiles so warmly at strangers and doesn't seem to fear him at all. She won't last ten minutes on her own.

“Probably,” she says in a tone that makes him wonder if she's less innocent than she seems. It's not a good thing, either way. She squints at him a little and he's never felt so exposed under someone's gaze, not even Anya's.

“What?” he asks, finally, because he's going to start squirming soon and he can't help himself.

“Do you have freckles?”

“Excuse me?” She's just crash landed on Earth and is seeing the world for the first time and she's asking him if he has freckles. No one has ever made less sense to him than she does in this moment. She leans in a little, just a small bit, enough that his shoulders tense up, but she doesn't seem to notice.

“You _do_.” He does. He's not used to getting comments on it, though. To be fair, the dark paint smeared around his eyes and over his cheeks tends to cover them up, but enough of it must have washed off when he'd pulled her out of the ocean.

“So?” he manages, finally.

She shrugs. “We just don't see them much on the Ark. We don't have sun exposure.” She's looking out at the water again, the corners of her lips tilted upward. He doesn't know what to say to that. He didn't even know the space craft they sometimes see, so far away in the sky was _called_ the Ark. He's never thought about all the things they wouldn't have or experience. _No sun exposure_. It's unthinkable to him, the idea of being cooped up in such a small, artificial space.

“Are you going to avoid the question if I ask for your name again?” she says, dragging her index finger through the sand.

“Maybe.”

She throws a handful of sand at him and it's wet enough that it splatters when it connects with his arm. He's not expecting it and he knows his face reflects his surprise. She tilts her head back and laughs, a rich, joyful sound and before she even finishes he knows he wants to hear it again. He's supposed to kill her and he can't. He has no idea what the fuck he's going to do.

“Bellamy.” It bursts out of him. He shouldn't tell her, but he does. He's known her all of fifteen minutes and he already seems to be forming a habit of doing things he shouldn't.

“What?”

“My name is Bellamy.”

“Oh.” She smiles. “I'm Clarke.”

He doesn't know what he's going to do, but he isn't going to hurt her, so it's probably about time to stop sitting on the beach worrying about it. He takes a deep breath and pushes to his feet. He'll just have to figure things out as he goes along.

“We should go,” he tells her.

Clarke raises her eyebrows, but stands up. “Go where?”

She doesn't seem concerned or confused, just curious. He wants to ask her what makes her think following a stranger _anywhere_ seems like a good idea, but then he realizes that she really doesn't have very many options. Maybe this was what she was expecting all along. It has him thinking something else.

“They know there are people down here, don't they? The ones on your ship.”

Clarke nods. “Yes.”

“And they sent you down because...”

“Curiosity,” she says, which definitely doesn't seem like enough to leave your whole life behind and possibly die, but she sounds genuine. She looks open, unconcerned, a bit awed, and he can't imagine what this must be like for her. He's still worried. They'd had a sky person come to the ground once before and he'd wreaked havoc, the reason his orders had been to kill Clarke on sight. But she doesn't seem violent.

“We're going to my village,” he tells her, finally, wondering how the hell he's going to get himself out of this one.

He doesn't realize he's neglected to mention just how _far_ that is until the sun is setting and Clarke crinkles her nose and says, “How much farther?”

There's a reason he was chosen to go after Clarke and it's a pretty simple one. He'd been out hunting with Lincoln and Octavia and, knowing they were the closest to the crash site, he'd gone for the ship, while Lincoln and Octavia headed back to the village to let Anya know it's taken care of. Except, it's _not_ taken care of. This is about as far from “taken care of” as it could be.

It's just general knowledge that if anyone comes from the sky, the only safe and expected thing to do is eliminate the threat, but Bellamy reasons that he doesn't have _specific_ orders. Sure, he should know better, but the order hadn't technically been issued. He's not actually done anything wrong. It's a flimsy argument, but it's all he has to excuse the fact that Clarke is standing next to him.

“About three days.” Four, if she can't sustain this pace, which he's starting to suspect she won't be able to. She hasn't complained, but he can see the way she's already limping slightly.

“Three _days_?”

“Yes.”

“How the hell did you get to me so fast, then?”

“I was hunting in the area.” Bellamy doesn't stop walking as he talks, Clarke trailing behind him. He's not willing to waste any daylight.

“Three days,” Clarke says under her breath. “You'd think a goddamn rocket scientist would be a little more precise.”

“Or maybe they didn't think dropping you directly on top of a village would be good for relations,” Bellamy suggests, but the annoyed expression on her face, combined with her fierce grumbling, is a little amusing, coming from such a small person. He fights the edges of his lips tilting up.

He can see that Clarke knows he has a point, but she only waves a hand at him dismissively, “Sure, whatever.”

He snorts, resisting the urge to rolls his eyes. He gets the impression that Clarke doesn't tend to concede a point. He doesn't either. They don't talk again until after they've stopped for the night and Bellamy's built a fire. He's got some dried meat and nuts in his pack, nothing fancy, but Clarke doesn't comment, though he watches her facial expression carefully and he can tell that she's unfamiliar with the taste.

He only has one sleep roll. He was never supposed to be bringing someone back. It feels like a betrayal of his people and his orders to give it to Clarke, but he does so anyway, handing it over and ignoring her eyes. His mother would have approved, at least, and probably Octavia too (if she can get past the whole “not killing the sky person” thing). Lincoln will be on his side. He hopes.

Clarke falls asleep stunningly quickly. Bellamy has always been a naturally light sleeper, slow to fall asleep and quick to wake. His training has only increased his natural instincts, so he lies awake for nearly an hour, listening to Clarke breathe next to him. He thinks about the book he has locked in the trunk in his hut, the one with the princess and the tower and the prince who dies for her, the one his mother had read to him every night. He falls asleep wondering if Clarke looks as much like that princess as he remembers.

The second day, Clarke talks. A lot. She hikes behind him, and words just spill out, a constant stream. He frowns, whenever he makes eye contact with her, to let her know he's annoyed, but the truth is, the stuff she's telling him is fascinating. He can't help but be curious about the people in the sky and she seems more than willing to share. She talks about the different stations and the governing system, the chancellor, a rule about population control.

The talking isn't really that bad. But she is _slow_. He's starting to think their trip (which he could do in two and half days, easy) is going to take at least four. She's not out of shape, exactly, she's just not like anyone in his village either. There's a softness to Clarke that he's never seen before. It's little distracting, but he refuses to acknowledge that thought.

On the third evening of their trip, they pass through the grove that lights up with radioactive butterflies at night and Clarke stops moving at all, standing in the middle of the clearing and spinning in slow circles, eyes lit up with wonder. She reminds him, uncontrollably, of Octavia as a child, chasing the butterflies through the woods. He's always associated them with her, and he sees something of his sister in Clarke's expression and he doesn't realize he's smiling until Clarke looks right at him and smiles back.

She switches tactics abruptly that night, sitting beside the fire he's built. And suddenly, instead of spewing information about her home at him, she's all questions. He ignores most of them and grants her a few shrugs and the occasional neutral grunt here or there until she throws a rock at him.

“What the fuck?” he growls, massaging his arm.

“Please, that was practically a pebble, stop being a baby.”

Bellamy glowers at her. It hadn't been a particularly _large_ rock, true, but it had stung all the same.

“I'm not asking for your life history, Bellamy. I just want to know something about what I'm walking into. I literally know _nothing_ about your people.”

He thinks about it for a moment. She has a point. It's probably for the best is she has some idea of what he's bringing her into. But he's still in denial about the fact that he _is_ bringing her into anything. Anya is going to furious.

“There are different types of people on the ground,” he begins. “My people are known as the valley people. We have five clans. Eagle, Wolf, Deer, Horse and Oak. No valley tribe is complete without members of all five clans. Balance is necessary. Each clan has its speciality, it is how our world works.”

“What clan is yours?” Clarke asks, open curiosity on her face.

“Wolf.”

“And what is the speciality of the Wolf clan?”

He probably shouldn't tell her, but he does anyway. “War.”

Her face doesn't give away anything, she looks exactly as she had before, but she takes a moment to respond. Her lips quirk upwards. “Figures.” And that's all she says on the matter before she rolls over and goes to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is a little early, but I had it done so I decided to go ahead and post it. I'm considering switching to bi-weekly updates, but it will depend on how busy I am in the next couple of weeks. I only just started back to school two weeks ago, so the workload hasn't really picked up, yet. 
> 
> The grounder society is different in this story because I felt like I was already having to fill in so many gaps that I just decided to restructure it the way I wanted. Anyway, so a lot of that might be unfamiliar or altered.
> 
> A small note on Clarke. In this universe, her dad is still alive and she isn't estranged from her mom and she hasn't lost Wells or struggled through solitary, so she's a slightly different presence than the Clarke we saw at the beginning of this show. I tried to keep her core traits, but Clarke as she is now is definitely a lighter, more trusting character than the one that we're all familiar with. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!


	3. With Your Knees On The Ground

_"You fall through the trees_

_and you pray with your knees on the ground,_

_for the things that you need_

_with your lust and your greed weighing down._

_And you weaken your love and you hold it above your head._

_Success is a song of the heart, not a song of your bed."_

 

Bellamy is a brooding mystery. But not as much of one as he tries to be. Clarke catches the suppressed smiles and soft eyes that he tries so hard to hide. He might be dangerous, she has no doubt that he is, but there's compassion in him too. Still, it isn't enough to make her truly trust him. The same way she catches his smiles, she notices the indecision too. He's not telling her the whole truth. It's hardly surprising. She's not telling him the whole truth either. She's not once mentioned her watch, the band on her wrist that will allow her to communicate with the Ark the moment she's alone. She hasn't mentioned that her people very much intend to join her. She doesn't plan to.

She's suspicious of Bellamy, but she isn't really afraid until his village is suddenly in front of them and there are more drawn arrows pointed at her than she can count. People are yelling in a language she doesn't understand and there are hands on her, pushing her. She loses sight of Bellamy.

Her voice abandons her. She's always liked to think she'd be good in a crises, but right now all she's doing is stumbling along and trying not to lose her footing. She ends up in a large square in the center of the town with a woman standing at one end. She's got braids in her hair and black warpaint smeared around her eyes. More than anything, she has a fierceness in the way she stands.

“You are from the sky?” her voice is like ice. There's probably not a good answer to that question; it's not really a question anyway. Clarke nods.

“Then you are sentenced to die.” The words barely have time to sink in when the yelling begins, a frenzy of excited shouts and Clarke's being shoved again, pushed closer to the woman. _Die_ , the word echoes through Clarke's head, her mind reeling. They're killing her just for coming down from the sky? She's two steps away from the woman, who's drawing her sword, trying to convince herself that all this is real, when another voice breaks through the air.

“I will speak for her.”

It goes dead silent, the people around her parting to let Bellamy step through. He's got his chin held high, but his jaw is tense. “I will speak for her,” he says again.

A girl catches his arm, long brown hair and light eyes. “Bell, don't.” He shrugs her off. He keeps walking until he's face to face with the woman at the front of the square. He doesn't blink, even when she begins to talk to him in a fast furious voice. They exchange heated words for a few moments before the woman yells something sharp and final and the people in the square slowly begin to disperse, muttering darkly under their breath.

“You've made a mistake,” the woman says lowly to Bellamy and walks away, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone in the square. Clarke feels like her head is spinning, everything happening too fast. Bellamy catches her arm and she flinches, but his grip is gentler than that of the people who had dragged her here. Still, she can tell he's not about to let her go.

“What's happening?” she asks. “Tell me what's going on.”

“Not here,” Bellamy says lowly, steering her out of the square in the direction of a smattering of huts.

Clarke's curious instinct makes her want to crane her neck and take in every passing detail, but the few eyes she catches are cold and angry, so she ducks her head instead and watches the ground beneath her feet until Bellamy pushes her into one of the huts.

It's small, only one room, but it's still larger than some of the apartments on the Ark. There is a pile of heavy furs in one corner that she assumes is a bed, a wooden chest pushed against the back wall, and a fireplace that takes up one whole side wall. On the other side she sees a desk and a stool, both stacked with arrows and knives.

Bellamy ignores Clarke's inspection and crosses to the fireplace, kneeling in front of it. She can't see what he's doing, but the next moment there's a crackle and and flame bursts to life, casting moving shadows across the room. His back is still to her when he speaks.

“You'll be allowed to stay, but don't expect a warm welcome.”

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the curve of his shoulders. “Is that your idea of an explanation?”

Bellamy straightens up, finally looking at her. His face is blank, carefully so. “Someone has come from the sky before,” he says. His tone is flat. “He brought descruction and death with him. It is not in our best interests to let you live.”

It's not so much his words, but the controlled way his says it, the lack of emotion in his face and voice that makes her angry. She hates this closed off person she sees before her, particularly after days of catching his hidden smile and soft eyes.

She doesn't get a chance to speak before the door is thrown open and a girl storms in. She's the girl who'd spoken to Bellamy, tried to stop him from speaking for Clarke. Her light eyes are on fire.

“You're an absolute _idiot_ ,” she snaps, shoving Bellamy hard in the chest.

He takes a small step back and his face is suddenly sullen. He responds in the language Clarke can't understand, but the girl glares at him.

“No. I want her to hear it. She needs to know exactly how big of a moron you are.”

“Octavia.” There's a warning note in his voice which the girl ignores, rounding on Clarke.

“How much has he told you?” she demands.

It takes some effort for Clarke to hold her furious gaze. “Basically nothing.”

“Figures.” Octavia shoots another glare at Bellamy. “My stupid, bleeding heart of a brother just put his life on the line for you and he _shouldn't have done it_.” The last part is addressed to Bellamy, who's back to looking blank, but Clarke notices his breathing is carefully controlled.

“I still don't really understand,” Clarke prompts, hoping Octavia will be more informative than Bellamy, who is irritatingly close lipped.

Octavia sighs hugely, but some of the angers seems to have left her and she takes a deep breath, eying Clarke speculatively.

“A man came down from the sky, once,” she begins. “It was before our time. He wasn't a good man, but it was too late before we knew that.” Clarke wants to ask what exactly this man did, whatever it is, neither Bellamy or Octavia have wanted to be explicit about it, but Octavia's talking, so she keeps her mouth shut.

“It is a bad idea to trust a sky person. Even our children know that. But Bellamy was too big of a softie and now you're here and he's spoken for you and there's nothing more to be done.”

“Sorry, but what exactly does that _mean?_ ”

Octavia gives Bellamy another dirty look. “It means he vouched for you. He's claiming you're trustworthy and he's taken that responsibility onto himself. That means if you cause any trouble, fuck up, he's the one who'll get punished for it.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, even as the information is still really sinking in. It's not a little thing that Bellamy has done and Clarke finds herself thinking guiltily of her watch and her mother, ready to drop bombs at Clarke's word.

“So don't fuck up, or I'll rip you apart myself,” Octavia threatens. Clarke has no doubts that she means it.

“O, back off,” Bellamy interjects quietly. His sister spins to face him, her fury back.

“Don't you _dare_ ,” she practically snarls at him. “Don't think I don't know what this is, Bellamy. I remember the book as well as you do.”

To Clarke's surprise, Bellamy practically flinches at Octavia's words and flush creeps up the back of his neck. What book? She almost asks. But from the look on both their faces, Clarke knows no one is going to tell her.

“I'm not going to get him in trouble.” Clarke draws Octavia's attention back to herself. It seems like the right thing to say, to try to diffuse some of the tension in the room.

“Damn right you're not,” Octavia says and storms back out of the hut as fast as she came in.

It's not easy to settle into the village. There are so many things Clarke doesn't know. It doesn't help that no one trusts her and no one speaks English around her, she's pretty sure to intentionally exclude her, and no one wants her around. Bellamy isn't much help. He makes up a bed of furs for her a few feet away from his own in the hut and scrounges up some extra clothes, but that's about it. He's withdrawn. He eats next to her at the fire, but speaks little and looks at her even less.

He's often gone during the day, she doesn't know where, and even after a week she feels like she's living amongst complete strangers. The only positive is that she's left alone a lot, which gives her a chance to contact her mother. Of course, that only causes more problems.

It's hard to be honest. The Council is really only looking for an excuse to clear out the people on the ground. It would be much easier for them if they don't have to work with these people. Clarke could give it to them. They wanted to kill her. But every time she opens her mouth to do so, she remembers the fury in Octavia's eyes and risk Bellamy had taken. She doesn't want to be the person who proves their suspicions true.

So she lies. Not about everything, just enough to keep the Council from making any decisions. She says she needs more time, that the people are wary of her, but not violent. It's an outright lie, this last bit, but it's the best she can do. She doesn't want to be the one making the call on whether these people live or die.

Two weeks in, she's had enough of sitting in Bellamy's hut all day, or hanging at the outskirts of the village, so she sits down next to Bellamy at dinner and angles her body to face him. She watches his shoulders tense, clearly aware of her eyes, but he doesn't look at her.

“I'm not useless,” she says, chin high.

That gets his attention, face turned towards her, eyebrows raised. She hates having to drag words out of him, but she'll do it.

“So I'd appreciate it if you stopped treating me like I was.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” His voice is rough, but even, giving away nothing.

“I'm talking about how I spend everyday doing _nothing_ and I'm sick of it. I'm not stupid and I'm not useless. I was trained as a doctor. I want to help.” It's stretching the truth a little bit. She's not exactly a _doctor_ , but close enough.

It's only because she's watching him so closely that she sees Bellamy react to the news at all, brow furrowing for an instant before the emotion is smoothed away. She's tempted to hit him, just to get a reaction of higher magnitude than a fleeting expression. He nods once, and she has no idea what that even means, before he stands up and disappears back into his hut. Clarke takes a few moments to shove down her anger before she follows him and by the time she gets there, he's already lying on his side, facing away from the door.

She's woken the next morning by Bellamy's hand on her shoulder and a quiet, “Clarke.”

“What?” she grumbles. She hasn't forgiven him for the evening before.

“Get up.”

“ _Why_?”

Bellamy scowls. “You said you wanted something to do. Now are you getting out of bed or not?”

She's tempted to say _not_ , just to spite him, but the offer of something to fill her days is too alluring, so she rolls to her feet and blearily searches for her boots until Bellamy takes pity on her and grabs them himself. She's really not a morning person, so she uses his shoulder for balance as she puts on her shoes and he stands there, solid as a rock an annoyed frown on his face.

They don't go far. Five huts over, Bellamy pushes open a door and motions for Clarke to go inside. She does so, Bellamy close behind. Inside there's a man with thick hair and a long beard and a tattoo on the side of his face. His eyes are guarded.

“This is Nyko,” Bellamy says from behind her. “He's our healer.”

Nyko jerks his head slightly in what Clarke thinks is a nod of acknowledgement, but she can't be sure.

“Clarke, meet your new mentor.” And with that, Bellamy's shoving his way out of the tent. Clarke momentarily pictures strangling him, but Nyko speaks, snagging her attention.

“It would be better to thank him. He doesn't owe you anything.”

“Excuse me.”

“Bellamy. I can see it on your face, how much he frustrates you, but you got lucky. He's probably the only one who would have saved you. And now you're here, so you better get used to it.”

Clarke crosses her arms, but doesn't answer. She doesn't like being psychoanalyzed.

“Well, let's begin,” Nyko says.

Despite their rough start, Clarke finds she likes Nyko. He's more willing to explain things to her than Bellamy is. He talks about the five clans, wolf for warriors and hunters, eagle for spiritual leaders, deer for runners, horse for farming and livestock and oak for healers. He explains that your clan is determined by your mother and then, if you're a man, your wife. But few people marry. It is irreversible and they believe you can be comitted without marriage. Clarke drinks in all the information she can. The culture is so unfamiliar, so different from her own, that it constantly throws her, but now that's she's spending her days in Nyko's presence, learning the names of plants and their functions, free to ask as many questions as she likes, she feels like she's finally getting her footing. So of course it only takes a few moments for her to be thrown off balance again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> First of all, sorry for the sort of cliffhanger ending. It wasn't my original intention, but I realized I needed to have a few events from Bellamy's POV before I got too far into Clarke's integration into society. I hope you guys enjoyed this installment, next one will have more Clarke/Bellamy interaction.


	4. Keep Your Hands Where I Can See Them

_"The clouds move over Pontiac skies, their silent thunder matches mine._

_And I know this feeling from long ago; I wondered was it gone? Well, now I know._

_So when she calls, don't send her my way._

_When it hurts, you'll know it's the right thing._

_You took the words right out of my mouth, when you knew that I would need them._

_And what am I supposed to do now?"_

Bellamy is aware that he's doing a terrible job. At pretty much everything. He gets glares from Clarke for his reticence. He gets sharp looks from his sister for any small gesture of peace he makes towards Clarke. He gets obnoxiously knowing looks from Nyko, the few times he sees him. He's taken to avoiding the man as much as possible.

Still, knowing he's doing a terrible job and correcting his behavior are two entirely different things. He gives Octavia up as a lost cause. As long as Clarke is here, Octavia is going to keep looking at him like he's an idiot. He can handle that. He's lived with that for plenty of years. Octavia likes to frequently inform him how much of an idiot he is. They can stay close, even with her thinking he's making a mistake. It's not like that's anything new.

He tries with Clarke, even though he's no good at it. He's never really been close to anyone but Octavia and she's his sister and was only twelve when their mom died, so he doesn't know what to do, other than mother her. But _that's_ embarassing, so he's sublte about it and he's pretty sure Clarke doesn't notice. She loses a button on her jacket and he replaces it quietly while she's working with Nyko. He adds extra furs to her bed. He knows Clarke isn't being given the best food by the cooks, so he has discreet words with Meera, and watches in satisfaction as Clarke's portion sizes go up. He knows how to take care of her. That, he's good at. He has no idea how to talk to her.

She finally notices when he leaves strips of leather for her to keep her hair back next to her bed. He's not exactly surprised because it's pretty unsubtle. He doesn't know what he's doing, but maybe Clarke sitting down next to him while he's on guard duty at the perimeter of camp, leather in her hands, is a start.

“What are these?” She asks. He spares her a sweeping glance, already knowing what he'll see. The first few days, Clarke had show visible irritation at his lack of communication with her, but recently she's seemed to come to terms with it and stopped trying as often. He doesn't like it.

“For your hair,” he tells her, shrugging. “You're always grumbling about it being in your way.”

Clarke is quiet for so long that he's tempted to look at her, but he resists. He hopes it's dark enough that she can't see the blush on the back of his neck. He doesn't like people acknowledging things he's done for them, it makes him all flustered and unsure.

“I know your secret, Bellamy.” Clarke leans against him slightly, her arm warm against his skin. “You're a total softie.”

He's about to protest, but he gets a look at her and sees the light in Clarke's eyes and her satisfied smile and he has a feeling that his objection would only amuse her. So he doesn't say anything at all, and this time, Clarke doesn't seem to mind.

A tentative peace forms between them after that, an ease that hadn't been there before. He's probably still a little more quiet, a little less open, than she'd like. And she feels the need to point out everything that she disagrees with, occasionally leaving him simmering with annoyance. Nevermind that she usually has a point.

He purposefully leaves the book buried in the bottom of his trunk. He doesn't want to get it out. He doesn't want to look at those pictures. He's not sure what would be more difficult, if Clarke really does look like the princess, or if she doesn't. She's beyond it now, a real person with distinctive traits and a stunning smile and temper that rivals his own. But he doesn't trust his head to see only that.

He doesn't know if he's doing a better job, but he's trying. He gets rewarded for his efforts in tidbits about Clarke's life. For every small smile he flashes her, every bit of information he gives up freely, without prying on her part, he gets twice as much back, her bright, wide smiles and the stories of a girl who dreamed of the ground, but never thought to see it.

She paints pictures on the backs of his eyelids as she talks about her dad, all warm smiles and laugh lines. Her voice changes when she speaks about her mother, not cold, exactly, but less warm and a little unsure. She talks fondly of a boy named Wells, who sounds gentle and calm and much too idealistic to Bellamy.

He can't give so much of himself back. He just can't. But he fights the urge to stay silent, his instinct to protect himself so intense it nearly makes him feel ill. What he can give her is history; not his, but his people's going back hundreds of thousands of years. He assumes he's boring her, lying on his back and talking into the darkness, but when he dares to turn his head, Clarke is lying on her side facing him, barely illuminated enough by the dying embers of the fire for him to see her blinking gently at him, lips tilted up in a smile.

He's not sure he'd use the word “friends” to describe them, somehow it doesn't seem to fit right, but they're _something_. He knows the rest of his people have come to certain conclusions about him and Clarke. He's heard the low muttering, the rumors. But it's nothing he isn't used to, not with the childhood he'd had. So he keeps his chin high and ignores the occasional glare that's sent his way. His people are afraid of Clarke, of what she might bring, of the history that hangs over her at all times. Even so, she's making friends. Nyko seems to generally like her, and others are following suit and he catches Octavia laughing with her at breakfast. Later, his sister punches him in the arm and says, “Just because she's cool it doesn't mean you're not a moron.”

It shouldn't be, but it's easy to let Clarke become a fixture in his everyday life. She's the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning and the last thing he sees before bed each night. He knows the cadence of her voice and the way the set of her shoulders changes with her moods. He knows about the people from her life – Abby and Jake and Wells and Theolonious.

So when shouting from the Healer's hut, he's moving in that direction, adrenaline pushing him faster before he even has time to process why. The scene that greets his eyes is enough to stop him in his tracks. Nyko's pushing a man down onto the table, a man who is thrashing and yelling, and Clarke is crumpled on the floor, hair in her face.

He gets over his shock with a particularly loud shout from the man and goes to Clarke, kneeling over her form on the floor, hands reaching, tentative.

“Don't move her,” Nyko barks over his shoulder, his hands pressing screaming man's arms down.

“What the fuck happened?” Bellamy's voice sounds distant to his own ears and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to fix this. He doesn't see what Nyko does, but a moment later the shouts fade away and he glances over to see the man now going limp, eyes closing.

“He was hallucinating,” Nyko explains, kneeling next to Bellamy on the floor and brushing Clarke's hair out of her face. There's a bruise rising on her left cheek, her eyes closed. “Got her with an elbow. Should have been fine, but she hit her head when she fell.”

Nyko leans closer and Bellamy can't see what he's doing, but when he sits back on his heels, his face is unreadable. “She'll come to in a bit. She may have a concussion, so I'll have to keep an eye on her. Can you get her up there?” Nyko nods to the second med table.

Bellamy does as he's instructed, lifting Clarke gently, careful to support her neck as Nyko tells him to. He's lowering her onto the table when his eyes find the bruise on her cheek again and it's like it all comes rushing in at once. He can feel his ears heating up and he does his best to tamp down the rising fury that forcing its way into his veins, lighting him up.

Nyko seems to sense it, because he says, “It was an accident, Bellamy.”

He knows. He understands that. It's no one's fault, but he can't help himself. “Do you see that?” He gestures at the dark mark on Clarke's cheekbone. “Don't fucking try to excuse it. There's not anything you can say, that makes _that_ okay.” And then he storms out, before he hits something.

He avoids Nyko's hut for the rest of the day, unable to go back in there, to check on Clarke. Even thinking about the incident has his blood pumping and he doesn't trust what he might say or do if he returns. So instead, he snaps at everyone who crosses his path and sullenly sits through the village meeting, ignoring everything and shooting glares at anyone he makes eye contact with.

He doesn't know how to explain it and he's not sure he wants to. It's just... He'd put his life on the line to save Clarke's and seeing her lying there, unconscious and injured, somehow that feels like a failure. Like, by taking on her actions as his responsibility, he'd taken on her safety too. Or, at least, that's most of it, the parts he's willing to admit to himself.

He sits alone at dinner, the space where Clarke usually is feels like a presence in and of itself and he looks for Nyko around the fires, but doesn't see him. He catches Octavia's eyes once and the look on her face tells him that she knows about the day's events and certainly has an opinion on it, but he shakes his head at her and she, thankfully, doesn't approach him. This isn't something he wants to talk about with Octavia. He's not even sure how. She can't possibly understand the responsibility of another human being and the feelings that come with failing them. He knows this all too well.

He expects to spend the night in his hut alone, but when he walks in, Clarke is there, propped up in her bed and sketching in the medical notebook Nyko had given her. She gives him a tiny smile and he just stares at her. The bruise on her face has set in, darkened. He can't seem to look at anything but that.

“We had a patient who was hallucinating today,” Clarke explains, with a little shrug of her shoulders. “He seemed to think I was trying to kill him.”

She doesn't know he was there, Bellamy realizes, suddenly. Nyko hadn't told her. He doesn't know if he's glad for this or not.

“Are you okay?” He forces out, slowly removing the weapons he carries during the day from his body and setting them on the table.

“Mostly. But Nyko says I should try to stay awake for as long as possible, in case I have a concussion, so I figured I'd just use the time to get some work done.” She holds up the notebook and she seems so nonchalant about it all, like she hadn't been out cold on the floor Nyko's hut. Like it isn't a big deal at all that there's a dark bruise blooming over her skin and it makes Bellamy angry all over again. He swallows it down.

“What was wrong with him, the guy?” he asks instead, trying to distract himself.

“His girlfriend slipped him some shrooms,” Clarke snorts, rolling her eyes. “Apparently he cheated on her and she knows he's prone to bad trips. A little over the top if you ask me, but I guess it did the job.”

But Bellamy can't help but think that Clarke should never be hurt over something as pettty as a lovers quarrel. His eyes go back to her bruise. He can't seem to stop looking at it. He doesn't realize he's scowling until she says something about it.

“It's not really a big deal, Bellamy. It was an accident.”

He shrugs. “Sure,” but his voice comes out a little rough, an undercurrent of his anger still there. He distracts himself by unlacing his boots. He catches a slight smile on Clarke's face as he's turning away, small and satisfied and he has no idea how she can smile about something like this.

He hears the smallest creak outside the door and then Octavia bursts into his hut without knocking, every inch the sister he's always known. She ignores Bellamy entirely.

“I came to check on you,” she says to Clarke, eyes softer than Bellamy's ever seen her look at Clarke. “I heard you got hit pretty hard.”

Clarke shrugs. “Mostly I just hit my head when I fell. Nyko thinks I should be fine.”

Octavia nods her head sharply. “Good. You're tougher than I thought you were.”

Clarke laughs and it's that same light, lovely sound he'd heard from her the first day they met and he suddenly realizes he hasn't heard it nearly enough. There's a smile on Octavia's face and when did she and Clarke get to be such good friends?

“I'm still tougher,” Octavia says.

Clarke grins at her. “I have no doubt.” And then Octavia's knocking her shoulder against his and giving him a small smile.

“Night,” her only acknowledgement of him.

“Night, O.” She turns towards the door and he's so busy looking at Clarke, at the way his sister's teasing had maanaged to make her eyes light up, that he doesn't realize his sister has paused in the doorway.

“Be careful with her, Bell,” she says in their native tongue and leaves before he can answer. He catches the puzzled look on Clarke's face and so he asks her a question about work before she can ask him to translate Octavia's words.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> sorry for the delay. I unexpectedly went out of town for the weekend and didn't bring my laptop and it wasn't until I got seven and half hours away that I realized I'd forgotten to forward the first part of my chapter to my email, so I couldn't post it until I got back. There shouldn't be any more delays! Sorry and thanks for reading!


	5. Via The Moon

" _She'll come via the moon and the windows,_

_she sends herself in heartfelt arrows._

_She's ready, dressed, and here for the taking._

_Lids and lashes on and I'm too slow waking._

_But the sun's not dimming, it's me spinning._

_Storm's a passing storm._

_And seeing here, you see yourself._

_It's calling out. It's calling louder._

_Help me believe you. Help me."_

 

It turns out that if she does have a concussion, it's a very mild one, and Nyko clears her for regular activity within a few days. The bruise on her cheek takes longer to fade, going from a dark purple to a sickly blue green and finally yellow. Bellamy's eyes linger on it frequently, lips pressed down in a frown and she's pretty sure he doesn't have any idea he's doing it.

She's come to realize that Bellamy, while intensely private, is very protective of the people around him. It's a quality he seems quick to hide, for some inexplicable reason. She's sure there's a story there, a reason he's got on emotional armor, but she's not sure he'll ever trust her enough for her to find out. Despite that, she's starting to fit in a lot more than she ever thought she would the first few days. People are used to seeing her in the village and the glares have fallen to a minimal amount.

Things might even start to feel comfortable, if it weren't for the watch on her wrist and the kernel of guilt in her chest. She talks to her mother in the evenings, after Nyko's stepped out for dinner and before she joins Bellamy at the fire. They speak in quick, hushed tones, tension in every line of Clarke's body. There is no option other than to not get caught. Her mother sounds more cold every time she talks to her.

“Things aren't good,” her mother admits, voice low and tired. “There's unrest in some of the stations and your father wants to tell everyone about the failing systems.”

“You should,” Clarke whispers, glancing over her shoulder at the door. Nyko left five minutes ago and so she should have another ten before Bellamy starts to wonder where she is.

“That would only cause panic and chaos!” her mother snaps. Clarke can tell it's something she's said a lot recently.

“People _deserve_ to know,” Clarke argues.

Her mother ignores her comment. “How are things going for you? Any suggestions? You're safe, aren't you?”

Clarke holds back a sigh. “They're people, Mom. I don't know what else you expected me to find. They're just people who have their own personalities and culture and I don't know what else to tell you. They won't like the Ark coming down, but if you leave them and their people alone, I don't see why things can't be worked out.”

“You're optimistic, Clarke. People don't-” There's a loud bang and yelling voices on her mom's end of the line.

“Mom?”

“I have to go.” And then there's only silence. She's got about a hundred different situations that might cause her mother to leave the conversation so quickly chasing each other around her head, but she can't dwell on it because she has to get to dinner before Bellamy comes looking for her.

She does her best to shake the unsettled feeling her mother had left her with as she stomps across camp to dinner. She can see Bellamy and Octavia lit up by the fire, Octavia laughing, Bellamy's shoulders hunched, lips pressed tight to hide his smile. It's so easily familiar, that Clarke's steps falter. It's only been a month, but she knows them, she knows so much about these people and their habits and personalities and lives and she's staying quiet when she knows there's a threat which could take all that away. It takes all her resolve to join them at the fire.

Octavia greets her with a warm hug. She's not sure when Octavia decided to like her, particularly since she's still giving Bellamy shit for saving her, but since she has, she's become highly affectionate. Bellamy nods at her, and passes her a bowl of stew. Clarke thinks she's doing a pretty good job of blocking out the conversation with her mother and listening to Octavia's story about the girl who almost accidentally beheaded her in training that day. That is, until Bellamy's hand settles, warm on her lower back.

“Okay?” he asks, voice low and quiet, only for her ears. She nods, but she's pretty sure her face isn't convincing, because his hand stays where it is, a gentle pressure on her back and she leans, just slightly, into him. Bellamy is not quick to touch her, so she's a little surprised when he seems to take it all in stride, eyes back on his sister, smile on his lips. For a few minutes, she's able to relax, forget that tensions are high back home, and there's the worrying thought, spurred on by the last strained words her mother had said, in the back of her mind that desperate people do desperate things.

Bellamy wakes her up before the sun the next day, a hand on her shoulder.

“What?” she asks, eyelids heavy.

“I'm being sent out on a scouting mission,” he murmurs. “I'll be back in three days.”

“You're leaving?” Words are having a hard time breaking through her sleepy haze and sinking in.

“For three days. I told O to check on you while I'm gone.”

“You're getting your sister to babysit me? You know I'm older than her, right?” Clarke mumbles, trying to keep her eyes open. She catches a flash of teeth, Bellamy smiling at her, and she tries to force her eyes back open.

“Okay, I've got to go. Get some more sleep,” he says. Later, she'll blame the warmth and her sleepiness and the fact that Bellamy is a much softer person than he pretends to be, but before he can straighten back up, she loops her arms around his neck and sits up just enough to hug him. She feels him stiffen up, shoulders tight, but then he breathes out slowly, his limbs loosening up.

“See you soon,” Clarke says, and then releases him. She falls asleep so fast she doesn't even hear him leave.

Bellamy being gone is a little bit of a wake up call, at least in some respects. While the rest of the tribe seems to have come to terms with Clarke's presence, she doesn't really know any of them, save Nyko and Octavia. Nyko is a good mentor, but Clarke doesn't mingle with him outside of work, so that leaves Octavia.

It's because of Octavia that she ends up being dragged away from the usual seats at dinner, and into a much more crowded area, Octavia practically pushing her down on a log. Clarke can feel the eyes of everyone on her. Octavia drops down next to her.

“You guys know Clarke, right?” Octavia says, like this is perfectly normal. To be fair, the circle of faces staring at her _do_ look familiar, she just wouldn't really use the word “know”. There is one man, who's unfamiliar, huge and hulking with tattoos twisting all over. Octavia is leaning slightly into his side.

“Clarke, this is Lincoln. He's been gone...” she crinkles up her nose, trying to find the English word.

“On a diplomatic mission,” Lincoln provides. Despite his size, there's something gentle about him and Clarke likes him at once. Nothing in Lincoln's face screams hostility or even wariness. He practically exudes warmth. “But I'm home now,” Lincoln continues, wrapping an arm around Octavia, eyes bright. Octavia looks softer around him than Clarke is used to, which she finds both surprising and intriguing. She's never really thought about Octavia and soft in the same hemisphere before.

“And you know Penn and Tris and Artigas,” Octavia says, gesturing the people around the fire. Clarke is tempted to say, _not really_ , but she isn't sure that will make a good impression, so she just nods.

“Clarke's working with Nyko,” Octavia tells Lincoln, and Clarke admires her ability to keep a conversation going when almost no one else is speaking.

Lincoln smiles. “You're a healer?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says. “My mother taught me. It's different down here, though.”

“I would imagine so. But Nyko is a good teacher. I'm sure you'll learn quickly.” And under Lincoln's kind gaze, Clarke can feel herself relaxing. Maybe three days won't be so hard.

She doesn't see Lincoln again until he visits Nyko near the end of the next day, the two embracing and laughing, while Clarke finishes up her sketch on nightshade. For being a large man, Lincoln's steps are very quiet and Clarke doesn't hear him come up beside her until he says something low in the native language.

“What?” Clarke asks.

“Impressive,” Lincoln translates. “You are a good artist. Is no one teaching you our language?”

Clarke shrugs, feeling a little self conscious. “I've picked up a few words here and there, but no, not really.”

Lincoln looks down at her. “I could teach you,” he offers. “If you would like to learn.”

It's Clarke's first instinct to decline. Surely Lincoln has something better to do than to teach her a new language. He only just got him and she's sure he's eager to spend time with Octavia and his friends, but he looks earnest and open and she finds herself nodding.

“Good. We can start now.” And then he jumps right into it, explaining the grammar of his language as Clarke puts away vials of medicine, flitting around and trying to remember the phrases she repeats back to Lincoln.

They talk all the way to dinner, where Octavia rolls her eyes at them, but them can't help but jumping in and arguing with Lincoln about the best way to teach verb tenses. Clarke finds herself sitting to the side, watching the discussion and the way the two of them look at each other with so much adoration.

“You're actually picking things up pretty fast,” Octavia tells her as they walk back to their huts that night. “I wasn't very good at learning English.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “Don't you guys learn that young?”

“Usually.” Octavia shrugs. “Our mom had some... problems,” Octavia explains. “And Bell was in warrior training by then, so he didn't realize I wasn't learning until I was already behind. It took him forever to get me all caught up. He's still better at it than me.”

Clarke's horribly tempted to ask for more information about their mother, but she holds back. Bellamy is incredibly tight lipped about his and Octavia's childhood and while she has a feeling that Octavia might be different, it feels wrong to go behind his back to find out. Still, she lies awake that night, wondering what sort of problems Bellamy and Octavia's mother must have had that she didn't take proper care of her daughter.

Bellamy comes home late in the evening on the third day with dirt smudged on his nose and a new cut of his forearm, but otherwise much the same. Clarke's sitting on her pile of furs, translating some sentences Lincoln gave her in her notebook, by the light of the fire when he stomps in.

“You're home,” Clarke says, surprised. She hadn't been expecting Bellamy back until sometime the next day. When he'd said three days, she assumed he wouldn't be back until the fourth.

He nods, kicking off his boots and starting to unstrap knives from various places on his person.

“You could say hi,” Clarke suggests, trying to keep from rolling her eyes. “Maybe 'how have you been, Clarke?' You know, something like that.”

Bellamy snorts, then sits down hard, right next to her, closer than she'd been expecting. “Hi, how have you been, Clarke?” he says, voice sickly sweet. Clarke glares at him and he grins back.

“You're a dick.”

He leans over to look at her notebook. “What are you doing?”

Clarke shrugs. “Lincoln's teaching me.” She tilts the pages so he can see her attempted translations. “I'm getting better,” she says, when Bellamy doesn't say anything.

He's frowning. “I didn't think... I could have taught you,” he says slowly.

“I know. Octavia told me.”

“I should have thought to teach you, I-”

“-Bellamy, it's fine. And it's good. Lincoln is nice and it's given me a reason to talk to someone other than your sister.” He's still frowning, so she puts a hand on his arm, a reflex, really, but he seems to relax a little, letting out a deep breath.

“Sorry, I'm just tired.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I should go to bed.”

“Okay.” Clarke watches him carefully, but he doesn't look at her much as he bustles around, putting away his things and discarding his heavier outer layers. She doesn't know why he's being so hard on himself and she doesn't know what to say to get him to stop.

Later, when they're lying in the dark and she can tell by his breathing that he isn't sleeping either, she speaks up.

“Bellamy?”

It takes him a moment to answer, like he's thinking about ignoring her. “Yeah?”

“I'm glad you're home.”

There's another long pause. “Me, too,” he whispers.

Two days after Bellamy comes home there's a distinct chill in the air and Nyko leaves Clarke in charge for a day, taking off with Lincoln to replenish the herb stocks before temperatures drop. She tells herself to be comfortable with it, but she's nervous.

“You'll be fine,” Nyko tells her before he goes. “You've been here for weeks. You know how I work. You'll probably get some sore throats, maybe a broken bone or two.”

She knows he's right. There are no major construction projects going on, so less chance for injury, and none of the women in the tribe are close to childbirth. It should really just be any other day.

And it is, until suddenly it isn't.

She hears the screaming first, a jumble of words, some of which she recognizes, thanks to Lincoln, but most of which are too garbled to catch and then the door is bursting open and people are stumbling in. They're carrying a girl about Clarke's age, who's unconscious and suspended between the other's her face pale.

“Nyko!” one of them demands, and she realizes it's Penn, a friend of Octavia's.

“He's not here,” Clarke tells him, stumbling over the words in the unfamiliar language. Penn blinks at her for a moment, then nods.

“Then you,” he says in English. He turns and Clarke follows his gaze to where the other's have placed the girl on the table. She's not someone Clarke recognizes, but the blood that's smeared all over her chest is familiar and daunting.

“You must save her,” Penn says. For a moment, Clarke feels her limbs freeze up. She doesn't know how to do this. She's never had a real emergency and she's never had to treat someone by herself, but then the part of her that is just like her mother takes over. She has to try.

“What happened?” Clarke demands as she steps forward, pushing the other men out of the way.

“We were scouting in the Northern-”

“-I don't need details,” Clarke interrupts. “I just need to know what happened to _her_.” She's reaching for tools, even as she's talking, trying to assess the damage. It doesn't look good.

“She was stabbed,” Penn says shortly. “Many times.”

Clarke takes one final deep breath, feels everything just fade away, and then she's focused. She snaps orders at Penn occasionally, hand her this, get her that, but he follows them without complaint, quiet and quick.

The girl has lost a lot of blood and her skin is cool and pale. There's nothing Clarke can do about that. If there are blood transfusions on the ground, she hasn't learned about them. On the Ark, they could save her. Down here... She isn't sure. But she pushes the doubt to the back of her mind and does her job.

She doesn't know how long she works. She doesn't know when the sun sets, but, what seems like only moments later to her, she's standing over the girl, who's still unconscious and there's nothing left to do. She'll either make it or she won't.

A hand falls warm and heavy on her shoulder and she looks up to see Nyko, a bulging pack slung over one shoulder.

“Sleep, Clarke,” he says gently. “You've done good work here. I've got it, now.”

She's a little dazed, with blood under her fingernails, when she stumbles out into camp. Her whole body feels heavy. She thinks about checking if there's any food left, but she's so tired that she just wants to sleep.

She runs into Bellamy halfway to the hut and he's carrying a bowl of soup and couple hunks of bread. He gives her a sort of half smile when he sees her and holds up the bowl. “I saved you some dinner.”

For some reason his words have her falling back into reality and it all just kind of hits her. If she didn't do a good enough job, that girl is going to die. She feels her lower lip tremble, just the slightest, and alarm flashes on Bellamy's face.

“Clarke?”

“What if she doesn't make it?” her voice is scratchy and quiet and there are tears stinging at the back of her eyes. Bellamy stares at her for a moment, then steps forward and tucks her into his side, steering her back towards the hut.

“Come on, you need to eat and sleep. If she doesn't make it, that's not your fault.”

Bellamy spends the next half hour coaxing food into her, but she just keeps seeing the girls face and all that blood. She wishes her mother had been here. Her mother would have known exactly what to do. She wouldn't have wasted precious seconds being dazed and scared.

“Clarke,” Bellamy's voice pulls her out of her head.

“You should sleep.”  
“I can't sleep. I have to know.”

Bellamy sets the bowl of soup aside and stares her down. “Do you know what you've done today?”

Clarke stares at him. She feels like she does, but that look in his eyes says otherwise.

“That girl in there, she's not just anybody. She's the War Chief of one of our allied tribes. She was hurt in battle and if she dies in battle, that is an honorable death. But if you saved her, then you gave her life. That's important to our people. _You_ are someone who is important to our people. And whether or not Lexa lives or dies, they won't forget what you've done for them.”

His words sink in slowly, absorbing into her skin, but all she can think is that this isn't how she wanted people to come to like her.

“I just don't want her to die because I didn't do enough,” Clarke says. Bellamy pulls her towards him, hands warm and steady.

“You did enough.” He doesn't say she won't die, but that's why she believes him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, 
> 
> I'm on EST time, so this is officially not late (but only by fifteen minutes, haha). I'm on track for next week, but the week after is looking a little iffy because I'm attending a film festival and a bunch of parties and stuff, so I'm not sure how much writing time I'll have. I'll try to keep everyone updated. Thanks so much for reading and commenting. You guys are the best!


	6. I'm Telling Darkness From Lines On You

_"Home,_

_we're a savage high._

_Come,_

_we finally cry._

_Oh, and we don it,_

_because it's right."_

Clarke's only been asleep for three hours when the tribal council calls a full village meeting, and Bellamy is tempted to leave her sleeping. She's certainly earned it. But he's also a little afraid Clarke will murder him if he doesn't wake her up. There might be news about Lexa and he knows she'll want to hear it.

She follows him out of the hut, stumbling a little and blinking away sleep. Bellamy puts a tentative arm around Clarke's shoulders and hopes he doesn't get a glare for doing so. He's really not sure what the rules are with Clarke. But she only lets out a little sigh and leans against him. They're near the back of the crowd, standing in the square, and he sees Octavia a little bit in front of them, shoulders straight. Clarke stifles a yawn, turning into his chest, arms anchoring around his waist.

“Wake me up if there's something I want to know?” she mumbles, her voice muffled by his chest.

“Sure,” Bellamy manages. He's not used to this side of Clarke, which he's only glimpsed a couple of times, early in the morning. When her brain is moving slower and she's still sleepy, she gets surprisingly affectionate.

Anya enters the square, a fierce expression on her face and Bellamy knows immediately what she's going to say. By the way Octavia's chin lifts, he's pretty sure she does too. They might not have been here before, not quite like this, but he knows.

“Today, a patrol of six, three of our people and three of our allies, including War Chief Lexa, were ambushed by members of a mountain tribe. While Lexa will live, others from the patrol have passed.”

“Lexa is going to make it,” Bellamy whispers to Clarke.

“So it's good news,” Clarke replies, her breath warm on his collarbone. Bellamy wants to say yes, but he knows the expression on Anya's face and he doubts they'll be that lucky. She's only just beginning.

“This is not the first time members of a mountain tribe have disturbed our peace and ignored our alliance. We will not stand for such transgressions. As of now, we are at war.” The square erupts into shouts, cheers, and general uproar.

“What is it?” Clarke asks, looking up at him with confused eyes.

“Today's attacks break a pact. Our people are now at war,” Bellamy tells her. He can feel a headache coming on. Most of the young warriors in his clan are too young to remember the last time there was a war, they are eager and excited and utterly naive. He knows better. He was too young to fight the last time, but he remembers it. He remembers his father marching out of camp one day and never coming back. He remembers his mother, with her haunted eyes and the way she was never, ever the same. War is not something to celebrate.

“Can we go back to bed?” Clarke says quietly. He doesn't know how, because from what he knows of her home, war isn't even an option, but out of all the people around him, her face reflects the understanding he feels down to his bones. This isn't a good thing.

“Yeah.” He feels separated from everything around him. “Yeah, let's do that.”

They make their way out of the crowd, which is only getting more worked up, Anya at the head. Bellamy catches Octavia's eyes and he can see that she's trying to suppress it, but there's excitement shining there. He knows she can't help it. She wasn't even born during the last war, but it makes him want to take hold of her, shake some sense into that head. She knows the stories, she knows what happened to their mother and his father. She should know better. He falls asleep that night to the sound of war chants and he hears them, even in his dreams.

Bellamy doesn't like to think of himself as a coward. He will fight for his people, die for them if he must, but when Anya tells him she's leaving him in charge of the camp guard while she leads warriors off to battle, he's relieved. He's a warrior because his mother was a warrior, because the clans pass through the mother's line and he was born in Wolf Clan. He's good at it, but he's never loved it, not like Octavia does. He's always been a little jealous of the Eagle Clan. He's not much into the spiritual side of things, but they keep the history and stories of his people as well and he trailed after Eagle elders as a child, begging for stories. He's tries not to think about it too much these days. He's a warrior, and now, he has to be fully focused on that, even if he won't be put directly in the line of fire.

Anya decides to take Octavia with her and Bellamy argues. He's never been afraid to question authority and he's probably lucky that Anya has known him his whole life, even went through training only a little ahead of him, so she only crosses her arms over her chest and stares him down while he yells at her.

“Octavia is a good warrior. She wants to go. I want her to go. This has nothing to do with you, Bellamy.”

“She doesn't know what she's signing herself up for!” Bellamy argues. Octavia has only ever known peace. She can understand what war means theoretically, but she's never felt it.

“That,” Anya points at him, “doesn't make a difference. She's not 'signing up' for anything. She's in Wolf Clan. War is her trade, whether or not she's experienced it before. War is _your_ trade, Bellamy. The only reason you're staying behind is that I know the warriors I leave to protect camp will follow you. You know this too.”

“She doesn't know what it's going to be like,” Bellamy tries, but he can hear the resignation in his own voice. He can't protect Octavia from this, no matter how much he'd like to. She'd probably never forgive him for it if he'd managed to anyway. Still, his heart feels heavy in his chest.

“But I do. I remember what it was like last time. You're not the only one who lost people,” Anya says steadily. “Sometimes we must fight, and someone has to do the fighting. She doesn't get a pass just because she's your sister.”

Bellamy nods his head, too annoyed and disappointed to say anything else. He hadn't come into this argument really expecting the results he wanted. Anya is tough and her decisions are always final, but he'd had to try. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Octavia and he hadn't tried to keep her from it.

He's in a foul mood the rest of the day, watching the warriors who are leaving packing up to go. His sister is vibrant, hair meticulously braided back and eyes bright. He notices Lincoln, always a quiet presence, is more subdued than usual. Bellamy suspects that Lincoln's about as happy about all this as he is. Like Bellamy, he remembers the last war. He remembers the causalities.

He bumps into Clarke around lunch time, carrying an armful of little bundles. It's a little disorienting, seeing her out and about during daylight hours. He usually only sees Clarke in the early morning or at dinner time or later. She stumbles back a step when they collide, but smiles when she realizes it's him.

“Hey. I heard you get to stay.” If he's not wrong, he thinks he detects a hint of relief in her voice. He hadn't thought too much about that. If he and Octavia both left, Clarke would be left untethered. He supposes she'd have Lincoln and Nyko to keep her company, but neither of those men are very talkative and Nyko keeps much to himself when he isn't working.

“Anya put me in charge of the guard here,” he tells her. “Do you need help with that?” He gestures at her armful. “What are you even doing?”

“Nyko and I put together little packs with first aid and supplemental herbs for the warriors who are departing,” she explains. Bellamy swallows back a fresh wave of irritation at the reminder that Octavia's marching off where he can't follow, and reaches for the packets in her arms. She relinquishes them and he follows her towards the gates, where the warriors are saddling horses.

Clarke takes individual packets from his arms and distributes them, giving slow instructions to each of the warriors. Bellamy watches her, the serious, solemn look on her face. She speaks slowly, but he's impressed with how far she's come with his language in such a short time. He probably shouldn't be. He knows Lincoln is a good teacher, but it's odd to hear his native tongue from Clarke's lips. She is so different from his people in so many ways, sticks out immediately with her bright hair and soft, pale skin, but she seems to have adapted impressively.

His people look at her differently too, now that she's saved Lexa. He isn't sure if Clarke notices it. If she does, it doesn't change her behavior, but there's a quiet respect in everyone's gaze when they look at her, rather than the initial hostility, followed by the reluctant acceptance. She's proved herself in a manner, not only to be useful, but to be someone trustworthy and kind. No one will outright say it, but they are glad to have her.

When they reach Octavia, which Clarke seems to intentionally save for last, she takes extra time. She whispers something in Octavia's ear that makes her eyes light up and wrap Clarke in a tight hug. Bellamy is itching to know what it is, but he knows better than to ask. A horn sounds near the gates, signaling the warriors to head out. He gets his own hug from Octavia, fierce but brief. She grins at him when they break apart.

“Try not to worry the whole time.”  
“Not possible.” He hopes his voice is steady.

Octavia rolls her eyes, but pats him on the arm. “It's okay, Clarke will take care of you.” And then she swings herself up on her horse and joins the throng of warriors moving out of the camp. She doesn't look back, but he doesn't expect her to. That's not who she is.

He startles as Clarke leans against his arm, tangling her fingers with his. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and he doesn't take his eyes off Octavia's retreating form, but he squeezes back.

“You know, if I had to bet on any of them,” Clarke says softly, “it would be her.”

“Me too,” he says, but he's thinking that even though he trusts Octavia to come back, he's afraid she won't be the same if she does. He'd seen it happen to their mother, so like Octavia, he doesn't think he can watch it happen to his sister too.

In the following two weeks, he tries not to mope, but he knows he doesn't do a good job because Clarke starts showing up at all times. Before, he'd only seen her in the mornings and evenings, but now she's everywhere. She'll check in while he's on watch. She'll show up while he's skinning animals or sharpening his knives or even just reading.

She pretends like she's not checking up on him, but he knows she is. He knows that Clarke knows he has a certain amount of pride and he's loathe to admit that not knowing what's happening to Octavia, if she's even alive, is driving him out of his mind. Still, he can't help but appreciate how hard Clarke works to keep him occupied, even if he's a little embarrassed about it.

Even so, he holds himself together pretty well until the anniversary of his mother's death rolls around. Most of the time, he doesn't think about it. It's been years now, and as hard as that time in his life had been, even those dark memories fade. This year, the day sneaks up on him. He doesn't even realize it until he notices the quiet looks people are giving him, tentative and a little sympathetic. They all know how much he'd struggled.

It starts with the looks and builds up from there, until by dinner he's just trying not to think too much, for fear that he won't be able to hold it in. It's always bad, but it's worse with Octavia gone. He's never been able to help but to draw parallels between Octavia and his mother and it feels like history is repeating itself, sending a fierce, naive young woman off to war. He stares at the fire and shovels down his dinner and counts every second he has left before he can go to bed without everyone in the village pitying him. He only has a few more hours and the day is over and he can leave it behind.

Clarke drops onto the log next to him with a sigh, tucking into her dinner happily. She's later than usual tonight, which she explains between bites, is due to the fact that some kid accidentally knocked over one of Nyko's shelves and the two of them had had to clean and reorganize for hours to get it all fixed. Even with the clear exhaustion on her face, Clarke looks flushed and happy and it's almost enough to coax a smile out of him, but not quite.

He gets through the rest of dinner by listening to Clarke and saying little. He suspects she's used to it. He's gotten a lot better about fighting his natural instinct to keep everything to himself, but Clarke's also stopped being bothered by his quiet nature. It's not that he doesn't trust her. He does. He just doesn't know how to open up to anyone. His whole life, he's grown up in the same place with the same people and they know everything there is to know about him, really. They know the worst times of his life and the best and he's never had to _tell_ someone about that before. He has no idea how you even bring something like that up.

He gets lucky because he doesn't have to. Five minutes after they've gone to bed, Bellamy's lying on his back, watching the play of the light and shadow from the fireplace, and Clarke speaks up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, voice quiet.

“About what?” He wonders if someone had told her and that's why she's asking. Has she known all along?

“About whatever it is that's bothering you.” There's nothing in the cadence of her speech to give her away. She might know about his mother, she might not.

“What makes you think something's bothering me?” He tries. He could make things easier on himself, and Clarke too. He could just give in. But he doesn't know how to.

“Bell.” There's a hint of exhaustion in her voice. “It's been all over your face all day. I thought you might say something, but... that's not you, is it?”

Bellamy feels her words sink in, tired but concerned. He knows Clarke cares about him, but he knows it in a distant sort of organic way that had developed over weeks of spending time together. He's never really _thought_ about it before. But now it's hard not to think about, the idea that Clarke actively _cares_ about him enough to push against his walls and reach out, over and over again, even when she gets nothing.

“It's the anniversary of my mother's death,” he whispers, finally. Clarke doesn't say anything for a long moment and he's starting to think she's not going to, when he feels a hand on his wrist, small and warm. Their beds are separate, but close enough that Clarke doesn't have to get out of hers to reach him. He reaches out so she doesn't have to stretch so far, threading their fingers together. It's better than words. He doesn't know what she could say, anyway.

“I never know how to feel,” he tries. He's never talked about this with anyone but Octavia and there are things he isn't willing to say to Octavia about their mother, things she doesn't need to know. “There was a war when I was young too. And my family, we're Wolf Clan, so my parents went to war and my dad never came home and my mom... It might have been better if she hadn't either.” He hates saying that out loud. It's not anything he hasn't thought a thousand times, but it's different, hanging in the air between them.

“She was never the same,” he continues. “Octavia doesn't get it because she wasn't born. She doesn't remember her any other way. I don't know what happened to her. I don't know _why_ she was the way she was afterwards, but she wasn't my mother anymore. She had no interest in family, in me or later Octavia. Everything she ever loved, it's like it stopped meaning anything. I used to think she'd get better. She had this garden...” He swallows. His throat feels too tight. “It was outside of the village. She used to take me there to play before the war. I was so small and there were these tall blue flowers that I could get lost in. It was the only thing that was the same before and after. She spent so much time taking care of it. When she came back, it was all she did. She'd get up in the morning and say she was going there and wouldn't come home until after the sun had set. I thought it might help her, spending time there, but then one day I went to go see her and the whole thing was dead. She hadn't been taking care of it. She'd just been sitting there, watching it die. That's when I knew she was never going to get better.” Clarke squeezes his hand.

“She killed herself there.” His voice comes out so quiet that he isn't sure if Clarke hears. “That's where they found her, lying in those dead blue flowers.”

“That's why you were so afraid of Octavia leaving,” Clarke observes quietly.

“She's so like my mother was, the good version of her.” It's the only way he can explain his worries. “She's never seen the way war can change people. She thinks because she's strong, she'll be fine, that she'll just fight her way out and come home. There are worse things to lose people to than death.”

It's probably the most he's ever said about his mother to anyone. He'd sort of stopped thinking about it while he talked and just let the words come. There's something surprisingly relieving about giving a voice to his thoughts. And Clarke, Clarke who has gotten so incredibly good at filling up his silences, stays quiet, just her hand in his. He doesn't know how she knows that's for the best, but he doesn't think she could say anything right now that would make him feel better than the weight of her hand, their fingers slotted together.

Octavia comes home exactly two months after she left, just after sunrise. She's part of a guard escorting wounded warriors back to get help from Nyko and Clarke. She's dirty and has blood smeared on one cheek, but her eyes are still bright and fierce and her chin is high. She hugs him for longer than she did before she left, and she tilts back her head and laughs, loud and free when he pokes fun at her. He was right, because she isn't exactly the same, but she's not bad.

His sister comes back into his life and Clarke practically disappears from it. There are dozens of injured warriors and she and Nyko run themselves ragged, trying to patch all of them up. There are surgeries to perform and rehabilitation to oversee and it takes up all her time. It's odd for him to adjust to, and then he feels selfish for thinking that, because Clarke is only doing her job and he doesn't have any claim to her. But for two months, he'd spent hours each day with her. And, if he's being honest, even though they don't talk about it, he and Clarke have been closer since the night he told her about his mother. It's not externally obvious, but there's an energy there and Bellamy feels more at ease around her. She knows about the darkest parts of his life now, so everything else comes easy. Or it had been, when he actually saw her.

It's disappointing, but not surprising that he hasn't seen Clarke in three days when she stomps into the hut, grumbling under her breath. He doesn't look up, immediately. He's sharpening an arrowhead and he has a tendency to get distracted looking at Clarke. She drops down onto her furs with a heavy sigh and Bellamy sets the arrowhead aside to look at her. He means to ask if she's okay, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Your hair,” is what he says instead. It's braided elaborately, all intricate twists, keeping it out of her face.

“Oh, yeah,” she says absently. “Octavia did it.” Of course she did, he thinks. This is just like his sister. Clarke tugs off her boots, glances up at him, and her eyebrows immediately shoot up. “What? Why do you have that look on your face?”

“The, um...” He can feel the heat in his cheeks. This shouldn't be hard to tell her, but he knows why his sister did it and he's not really willing to think about how he feels about that. “It's not really...” He clears his throat, entirely aware that he's flailing. “The braids she gave you are like the ones she wears. They indicate that you're in a serious relationship,” he tells her.

Clarke blinks at him for a moment, then snorts. “Well, that would explain the smirk on her face that she was trying to hide.” She sounds completely unbothered, shrugging off the information like it's nothing.

“Do you... I could fix them,” he offers. He'd done Octavia's braids plenty growing up, before she'd met Lincoln and changed them. He's pretty sure it's in his muscle memory.

Clarke waves him away, unconcerned. “Don't bother. I don't really care what people think.”

He watches her for a few long moments, trying to figure out exactly what she means by that, is it apathy, or something else? But her face doesn't give anything away and he can't quite bring himself to believe that she is trying to imply anything. It doesn't stop him thinking about every time he sees her, blue eyes and braids that say something he doesn't know how to feel about.

It's been months and it doesn't feel like being in a war. There's no fighting here, no fear, no rationing. The only thing that is a reminder is the absences of people and the warriors limping around camp, recovering. He remembers it being worse than this and maybe he'd inflated the horror in his head and maybe he'd been so worried for nothing.

It doesn't feel like a war until he wakes up to a commotion and stumbles out into the village, knife in hand, but there's nothing to fight. There's only Penn, standing in the middle of the square, swaying slightly on his feet, covered in layers of dirt and dried blood. Clarke was slower out of the hut than he was, but she pushes past him and goes to Penn, trying to check for injuries, but he shrugs away, shaking his head.

Most of the village is outside now, watching Penn with wide, frightened eyes. He looks around at them all gathered there and nods once, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself. Bellamy feels the sinking dread before he speaks. He knows he doesn't want to hear whatever words Penn has to say, but not listening won't change the words.

“Anya is dead.” Penn's voice is ragged and strained. Bellamy's never heard so many people go so suddenly quiet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here it is! I've got a really busy week coming up, so I may miss the Friday deadline, but I'll try not to. Hope you enjoy! Sorry for any typos, I literally just finished writing this. I'll look through it again in a bit and try to correct any mistakes.
> 
> Oh, also, in case you're wondering, The Mountain Men will not be making an appearance in this AU. I found that storyline is unnecessary, for what I want to tell and would add another layer of complication I don't need. That being said, the Mountain tribes are essentially the replacement for Mountain Men, but without any superior technology and such. Feel free to ask any questions about that!


	7. Set Your World On Fire

_"You can keep moving on like you do._

_The road goes as far as the eye can see._

_I won't stand in your way._

_What's the good in that?_

_And the flowers in their bed,_

_they're drooping and dying and fading away._

_This weather's no good for growing things._

_And I am, I am trying, the best that I can."_

It takes her a little while to work out what it means and it would likely be a lot faster if Bellamy just told her, but, even though they're closer these days, he still keeps his worries mostly to himself, so it's Octavia who ends up clueing her in.

Nyko has taught Clarke about the tribal council, which has a representative from each clan. During different times, different members hold the most power. So for example, during war time, the Wolf Clan member, the War Chief, has the most power. During harvest, the Horse Clan leader is most powerful. With Anya's passing, a new War Chief must be voted on immediately, to fill the leadership void. Every member in the village gets a vote, which the council will tally. There is an expected mourning period for Anya, two weeks, and then they must make a decision.

“It's going to be Bell,” Octavia tells her, as she's fixing Clarke's braids. “He won't say it, but we all know.”

“How?” Clarke asks, her stomach sinking.

“He's the logical choice. He's one of the older warriors who is young enough to lead for a large period of time. The others listen to him. He was left as the head of guard here because Anya trusted him. That was basically a declaration that if she died he should be her replacement.”

“That's dangerous for him, though, right?”

“Leading people to battle is always going to be dangerous.” There's very little emotion in Octavia's voice, just a hard, flat tone. “He's a warrior. Risk is just a part of his life.”

“But you want him to win anyway,” Clarke says slowly.

“It's an honor.” Octavia finishes Clarke's hair and her hands fall away. “It shouldn't go to anyone else.”

“Does he even want it?” She thinks about the way Bellamy's eyes light up when he's explaining tribal history to her and how she's never once seen him look that way about war. He mostly just looks resigned. She can't imagine him that way, but she supposes Octavia knows him best.

“He'll be good at it,” Octavia hedges. “He's good at getting people to follow him. Somehow he gets them thinking it was their idea.”

For Bellamy's part, he doesn't say a word about the upcoming vote. Clarke tries to bring it up a couple of times, without flat out asking him, but he always manages to change the subject. Clarke can understand. Tradition is valued highly by his people and while the Ark had been different, she'd felt a similar pressure to follow in her mother's footsteps. In Bellamy's case, it doesn't look like he'll have much of a choice.

She asks Lincoln if he's going to vote for Bellamy during one of her language lessons. He isn't the sort to give his opinion unsolicited, which is precisely why Clarke values it. It takes him quite a long time to answer, just sitting there with a thoughtful look on his face.

“He is the best choice,” he says, finally, with a small shrug of his shoulders, as if that's all there is to it.

“But he doesn't _want_ it!” Clarke snaps. He hasn't said so, but Clarke knows it. She sees the way his eyes sometimes go soft and distant, worry etched into his face. She's watching the way he's retreating back into himself, more and more.

Lincoln nods. “I would not expect him to. Bellamy is a Wolf because he was raised to be one. It is not who he is.”

“Then how can you possibly force him into this?”

“Because he is the best one for it,” Lincoln repeats. “He might not be a Wolf naturally, but he is a leader. We need someone like him, a War Chief who isn't thirsty for war.”

Clarke exhales heavily because Lincoln is right. Bellamy isn't like Anya or Penn or even Octavia. He doesn't want blood. He will take it, where necessary, but he doesn't yearn for it. The others follow him, look to him, he is the best choice. She hates it.

She really means to talk to him about it. She doubts she's considered enough of a citizen to get a vote, but if she _does_ get one, she wants to do with it whatever Bellamy wants. She doesn't care if Lincoln is right or not, she feels she owes that vote to Bellamy's wishes.

But when she gets back to the hut that night, he looks up from his book and smiles, gentle and happy and so much less worried than she's seen him in days and the words just dry up in her throat. She's had to stop denying that she has a little bit of a crush on Bellamy. She's pretty sure it would just be pathetic to try to convince herself otherwise, not that she's going to say that out loud to anyone else.

“How was Lincoln's?” he asks, closing the book.

“Interesting. He taught me how to say nerd. I figured it was a word I might need a lot, living with you.”

Bellamy only rolls his eyes. “Intellectual,” he counters.

“Sure, if that's what you want to call it.”

“I have something for you,” he changes the subject. Clarke kicks off her boots, while Bellamy crosses to his trunk. She doesn't see him open it very often and he seems protective of it, so she's never asked what he keeps inside. He reemerges with a heavy coat of thick, silvery fur. Clarke raises her eyebrows, hoping it combats the heat she can feel rising in her cheeks. She kind of hates how sweet he can be because it's so much harder not to blush when he's doing things like this for her.

“Indra says there'll be snow this week and I don't remember a time she's ever been wrong about the weather,” Bellamy explains, passing the coat to her. It's shockingly soft in her hands.

Clarke wrinkles her nose at the mention of Indra. She's an elder in Wolf Clan and would probably be the one being elected War Chief if she were younger. She's never warmed to Clarke and the feeling is somewhat mutual. Bellamy laughs at her expression.

“She's really not so bad.”

“Yeah, well she _likes_ you,” Clarke counters.

Bellamy snorts and drops back into his furs. “The elders are just more suspicious than the rest of us, that's all. It'll take them longer to warm up to you. Our last Sky visitor didn't leave such a good impression.”

Clarke wraps the coat up in her arms and presses her cheek to it, marveling at its softness. Very little on the ground is soft, she's found. “Yeah, am I ever going to get the full story on that?”

Bellamy regards her for a moment. “The elders are afraid it'll give you ideas,” Bellamy says, but there's teasing in his voice. “It's gotten muddled with time. There's so many versions now, we have no idea what really happened. In the most popular version, the Sky man, apparently they couldn't be bothered to keep a record of his _name,_ ” the annoyance at his people's failure to properly document this time in history is sharp and incredibly endearing, “brought weapons, strange things. Fog that burned our people's skin, diseases that made them bleed and for which we had no cure. He conquered villages and started wars before he was finally killed in battle and it took years for peace to come. But it's been so long now... No one really knows anything about him, just that he came from the sky.”

“And everyone just... assumes that if anyone else comes from there they will be bad?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy shrugs. “We've never had much else to go on. It's easy not to question the notion when you don't have to deal with it.”

“And now you have to deal with it,” Clarke supplies.

“Yes, it's been a horrible pain in my ass,” Bellamy teases. Clarke throws one of her shoes at him, which he dodges, laughing. But thinking about the sky and her people have sobered her. She hasn't heard so much as a word from her mother since that night, so many weeks ago now, that she'd left the call so abruptly. She has no idea what's going on back home. And there's nothing she can do about it. She tries, every evening, when she's able to find some time alone. She spends as much time as she can spare, trying to contact the Ark, but she gets nothing back, radio silence. She doesn't know if the problem is her or them. All she can do is hope.

Two days later it snows, fat, wet flakes that start suddenly, and spiral lazily down from the sky. Clarke wears her new coat, bundled in soft, silver furs, and ignores the way the other villagers stare. She's used to getting odd looks. She'd gotten them for nearly a week after Octavia had put braids in her hair and she assumes this is much the same. That is, until she bumps into Octavia at lunch time and the other girl just stares at her, lips parted.

_“What?”_ Clarke asks, crossing her arms across her chest, feeling like she's missing something crucial.

Octavia closes her mouth and blinks a few times. “Nothing, sorry, it's just, that was our mom's.”

“What?”

“The coat. That belonged to my mom. Bell's dad made it for her and he never even lets me _touch_ it. Says it reminds him of mom... you know, before everything.”

“Oh.” Clarke's face feels very hot. She's not sure if she's flattered or embarrassed that Bellamy gave her the coat. She doesn't get a chance to say anything else, though, because Bellamy joins them then, looking unconcerned.

“Told you Indra's always right,” he says to Clarke, as they settle down for lunch. Octavia is shooting him strange looks, but he doesn't seem to notice, more focused on his lunch. Clarke's surprised that Octavia makes it fifteen minutes before she's leaning close to Bellamy and talking into his ear in the native tongue. She knows the words aren't meant to reach her, but Clarke hears them anyway.

“What the hell? That's _mom's_ coat, Bellamy.”

Bellamy gives a tiny shrug and Clarke averts her gaze from the two of them so it doesn't look like she's eavesdropping, even though she completely is.

“ _Mom's_ coat,” Octavia repeats.

“And now it's Clarke's” Bellamy says lowly.

“You never let me anywhere near that thing,” Octavia presses. “You've kept it locked in that trunk since she died and now you've just given it away?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, why can't you just tell her you like her like a normal person?”

“It's winter. She needed a coat, O. Stop blowing this out of proportion.”

“Fine.” Octavia's voice goes quiet and there's something almost dangerous in her tone. “You know, you'll be gone soon, off leading the warriors. If you don't like her, maybe I'll tell Penn he has that shot with her he's been babbling about.”

“What?” Bellamy's tone is flat and Clarke resists the urge to turn and look at them. If they knew she could hear them, they'd never be having this conversation, but she can't bring herself to feel guilty about any of it.

“Penn. He's got a huge crush on Clarke, but he thinks you two are together, so he hasn't said anything to her.” Clarke is unsure if this is true, or if Octavia is just fabricating a story to try to get a rise out of Bellamy. Come to think of it, Penn has been hanging around her quite a lot recently, but Clarke had just assumed he was bored, recovering from a shoulder injury and with most of his friends off at war.

There's a long pause before Bellamy says, “Don't.”

“Don't what?” And of course Octavia would push it, where other people would just leave it alone. Letting things go isn't in her nature.

“Don't tell Penn that.” His voice is very quiet, almost too quiet for Clarke to hear and her heart is beating so fast she thinks she might faint.

“Why not?” But it seems Octavia's pushed too far this time because there's a loud bang and Clarke turns instinctually towards the sound, just like everyone else. Bellamy stands up abruptly, nearly knocking Octavia's bowl out of her hands and storms away.

Clarke raises her eyebrows at Octavia, even though she already knows exactly why Bellamy had gotten upset. It would be obvious she'd heard too much if she didn't question his outburst.

Octavia rolls her eyes and says loudly, “He's just a drama queen, that's all.” Clarke gives Octavia a little smile, but all she can think about is how Bellamy said he didn't want Penn to be told Clarke is available.

If she were a braver person, she'd flat out ask him about it, but she's not. He's too much to risk. Her best friend, her roommate, her protector. She doesn't care if that makes her a coward. Besides, she thinks, a little bitterly, he's being a coward too. This isn't all on her. Still, she finds herself watching him out of the corners of her eyes, wondering what it would be like if she blurted out all her feelings. She's not sure she understands half of what Bellamy does, so she can't imagine what he might say.

It's getting progressively colder and the ground is frozen solid, crunchy under her feet, though the snow disappears after a couple of days. At first, she doesn't notice that she's getting larger portions of meat at dinner than everyone else. The amount of available meat must have dropped off, she thinks, when she finally does realize it. Of course it did, it's winter. She's sure her portions are larger, she just can't understand why. She must start to look suspicious when she gets her food, because she catches the woman who serves the food, she thinks her name is Meera, gazing oddly at her a couple of times.

Finally, one day, she just sucks it up and asks her. Meera doesn't seem to speak English, but she appears to understand Clarke's attempt to ask about the food. Meera smiles brightly and says Bellamy's name and two other words Clarke doesn't know.

She asks him what it means later and the way he chokes on the water he's sipping has her even more curious.

“What? Is it bad?”

“Where did you hear that?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Meera said it. I asked her why she gives me more food than other people.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “It means she thinks you're my lover,” he tells her.

“Oh.” It makes sense, to an extent. Bellamy is popular in camp, even more so now that everyone expects him to be elected War Chief. Everyone thinks they're a couple, so she's reaping the benefits. She squashes the little voice in her head that says she'd rather get smaller portions and _actually_ be with Bellamy.

But then she mentions it to Octavia and finds out that she's wrong. She only brings it up in passing, over dinner, and Octavia stares at her with narrowed eyes for so long that she has to ask her what's wrong.

“It doesn't mean lover,” Octavia says. “Who told you that?”

“Bellamy did.” She's trying to think of why he would lie.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Coward,” she mutters. “It doesn't mean lover, though it does imply it. It means... She said you're Bellamy's heart. But it's more...” Octavia huffs in frustration. “It's got a lot of weight. It's deep. And rare.”

She can tell Octavia doesn't feel satisfied with her explanation. Clarke wishes she could understand.

“Bellamy could explain it better. He'll know the right words.”

She confronts him about the lie after dinner, arms crossed and determined face on. His hand slips from the wood he's carving and he barely avoids cutting his palm on his knife.

“What?”

“Octavia told me it doesn't mean lover.”

“Why were you asking Octavia about it?” He sounds irritated and he isn't looking at her.

“It just came up and she was confused as to why I was under the impression it means something it doesn't.”

Bellamy shrugs. “So it's not an exact translation. So what?”

“Care to tell me what it really means?”

“Octavia didn't?” He sounds stunned.

“She tried. She couldn't find the right words. So now I'm asking you.” She doesn't know why she's so annoyed, other than she doesn't like knowing that Bellamy lied to her and she's such a fucking hypocrite because she's still lying to him everyday. He doesn't even know why she's really here.

Bellamy stops whittling, gazing at the knife in his hands. “Soulmate. It means soulmate.”

Clarke stares at him for a few moments, reminding herself to breathe. “And why would she think that?” There's color in Bellamy's cheeks and creeping up the back of his neck. His lips are pressed down into a frown.

“There's this book,” he says quietly, setting his carving aside and reaching for the trunk. “Of fairytales. And my mother and I would read from it every night when I was a kid.” He digs around for a moment before producing an old, leather bound book. He doesn't look her in the eyes as he holds it out to her.

“The illustrations,” is all he says. Clarke opens the book and flips through the pages until she finds an image, done in dreamy color. It's a girl in a tower. A girl that looks remarkably like her.

“I told everyone that princess was my soulmate. Wouldn't shut up about it,” Bellamy says gruffly. “So then you show up and, you know,” Bellamy shrugs, “everyone knows. So they just assume.”

“She looks just like me,” Clarke says dumbly.

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean, _just_ like me.”

Bellamy barks out a little laugh. “That's the very first thought I had when I saw you. Well, actually, it was that you looked just like her.”

“Lucky for me, I guess,” Clarke responds. Bellamy finally looks at her, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, who knows if I'd be alive today, otherwise.” Bellamy gives her a weak smile and she decides to take pity on him and let the subject drop. It puts a lot of things in perspective for her, explains some of the treatment she's gotten, or even some of the comments. She probably shouldn't be most focused on the fact that Bellamy as a child had thought his soulmate was a girl that looked just like her.

No one's surprised when Bellamy is elected War Chief. Clarke isn't either, though the moment it's announced, a lump takes up residence in her throat and doesn't seem inclined to go anywhere. It means his days are numbered here. All too soon, he'll be riding out with more of his warriors to where the war is raging. The other allied tribes had allowed theirs to step back and mourn for Anya, but they'll be expecting relief and her replacement soon. And that means he's going.

He goes quiet after the announcement, chin up, shoulders straight, and just quiet. He's quiet like the first days, where she knows he has things he wants to say and he can't let them out. She hates it. She hates that they're asking this of him, when it's nothing that he would ever want. She hates that he'll give it to them without thinking, because that's who he is. She hates that that's what makes him the perfect choice. Unfair. It's entirely unfair.

“Did you vote for him?” Octavia asks her, the night before Bellamy's leaving.

“I didn't get a vote,” Clarke answers. “But if I had, I would have asked him.”

“He would have told you to do what you think is best,” Octavia responds. She looks proud, but unhappy.

“Best for him, or best for the tribe?” Clarke wonders. She knows those are two different things.

“It doesn't matter now,” is all Octavia says.

She wants to let him go peacefully. She wants to sit in their hut and read and laugh and she wants to get a chance to hold him, but she's not the sort of person who's ever taken the easy road and she can't just let him go like that. So instead, she faces him, says the words that have been in her head for days.

“You don't have to go,” Clarke says, chin up, trying to keep her face impassive. She's been thinking about it a lot lately and she thinks it's important someone says this to him. He would never, ever say it himself.

“I do.” There's no room for argument in his tone, but that's never stopped her before.

“No, you really don't. You've given up enough of yourself. That's all you fucking do. Give to Octavia, or me, or anyone else. Take something for yourself for once, okay? Just take this for yourself.” Clarke doesn't know how else to put it. That's all there is, Bellamy giving bits of himself away to fix other people and their problems.

“You don't know what you're talking about.” There's a harshness in Bellamy's tone, even though there's no emotion on his face. “I don't have a choice.”

“Of course you fucking do!” Clarke yells at him and she feels like she can't breathe because after everything he's done for her, she can't save him from this. “But you're more scared of being selfish than you are of dying!”

“I'm not talking about this,” Bellamy says, just so cold and unmoving. He looks at her for just one more long moment and Clarke wants to reach out to him, more than anything, but that look on his face says there's no way he'll let her anywhere close. And he's going in the morning and taking a piece of her with him and he's going to leave furious with her. And she still doesn't regret trying. He deserves that, her trying.

They go to bed shortly after that, a heavy silence between them and this isn't what Clarke wanted at all, but at least he'll go knowing she thinks it's wrong. At least he'll go knowing there's someone who thinks what he wants is more important than what his people want from him. And he deserves that too.

He gets up early in the morning, before the sun, and she can hear him preparing to leave and she half wishes she could be asleep to miss this part. But then he's walking away and she knows that the moment he steps out of that hut, he's gone. She might see him in an hour or two, but he'll have his war paint on and his jaw set and he'll already be gone. So she decides to be brave.

Clarke clambers to her feet, tripping a little in her furs, and says, “Wait.”

He freezes, and she can see the tension in his back. Then he turns around slowly. And she knows she can't change his mind about this, knows she's already lost, just by the look on his face.

“What is it, Clarke?” He sounds so very tired. He's waiting, and she's got absolutely nothing to keep him here, so this has to be about letting him go. She crosses to stand in front of him and she looks up at his face, at the freckles across the bridge of his nose and his curls, still mussed up from sleep, and he's still just a kid, really. She can't make him stay, so she just needs him to come back.

She reaches up and pulls him down to her, surging up onto her tiptoes to reach his lips. She barely has time to wonder if she's made the right decision before his hands are on her waist, pulling her closer, tighter, and she forgets about breathing entirely at the force of his kiss. It's not a first kiss, too fierce and demanding and sad for that, and when they break apart, he rests his forehead on hers, eyes closed. Clarke says the only thing she has left.

“Just come home.” His lips brush across her cheek for just a breath, soft, and then he's gone, stepping out of her arms and into the morning.

When she sees him an hour and half later, mounted on a horse before the ranks of warriors, red paint on his face, his eyes sliding over her like she isn't there at all, he's not Bellamy; he's who he has to become to save them. And all she can think as she watches him lead them away, is the same thing, _just come home_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no idea how I managed to get this done on time. That being said, it's only been glanced over, so hopefully there are no glaring mistakes (but let me know if you see something). We're really getting into the meat of the story at this point. =)


	8. I Was Born A Champion

_"Did you hear the thunder?_

_Or the rain?_

_Means I'm coming home again._

_Oh, did I send a shiver down your spine?_

_Well, I do it all the time."_

He thought he knew about war. He's seen the damage first hand. He's been in fights, small skirmishes, he's bled and caused others to bleed, but he's never experienced anything like this. He's more emotionally tired than he is physically so. It's hours and hours and hours of nothing and then everything all at once. It's boredom and then fear. It's heat and rain and adrenaline in his veins. It's exhaustion, so deep that he can barely breathe. And it's yearning.

Yearning for warm fires and relaxed muscles, for the feeling of calm and content that comes with home, for his sister's laugh, and so much for blue eyes and pale skin and hair that shines like gold in the sun. She asked him to come home and he wants to, more than anything in the world. But he has a responsibility here, and as much as it's not where he wants to be, never where he wants to be, he'll pick up his knives and his arrows and he'll keep going.

He'll picture that home is on the other side of each battle and he just has to get to it. He tells himself this when he has blood in his mouth and up to his elbows and his body is screaming to just stop, just let go. He gets through this, and he can go home.

He has a stained, blood soaked leather bracelet from his sister, tight on his right wrist, something she'd given him before he left. He'd been surprised when she hadn't fought him on staying behind, but then she'd placed a hand on her stomach and smiled a sort of wistful smile and he'd known. So he'd opened his mouth to ask, demand answers, but she just shook her head and said, “Not now. I'll tell you when you come back.” So he'd accepted that, even though her meaning is clear as day.

“Besides,” she'd added, “someone has to look after your princess for you.”

So he wears Octavia's bracelet on his wrist, but he doesn't have anything from Clarke. Just the memory of her lips and the words she'd whispered, _just come home_. So that's exactly what he plans to do.

They're not winning. They're not losing, either. Everything is just stalled. It would be easier if there were a goal of some sort, but there really isn't, just fight after fight because someone broke and truce and Anya felt threatened and now they're in a perpetual loop of blood and anger. If it were just his tribe, Bellamy would try for a new alliance and just walk away. But it isn't, and leaving would break a dozen more alliances that they need, so instead he's here, fighting a war that doesn't make sense, warriors slowly dying off on each side.

It's the weather that saves them. One day there are light flakes drifting down gently from the sky and the next day it's a full out blizzard. There's no way they can fight in that weather. On the downside, they start losing people to hypothermia instead of swords and they have no choice but to hunker down and try to wait it out. The storm is almost as deadly as the war, but when it clears, followed by bright, crisp skies, it's pretty clear that no one will be doing any more fighting for a while. All the mountain passes are closed, snowed in, and while they could get men through on either side maybe one at a time, it's not an efficient fight. Even the most war hungry aren't stupid. They'll die from cold and hunger before they ever see a fight. Bellamy is relieved. It will be a long, hard journey home, but the war will have to hold until spring, and for that he's relieved. He's going _home_.

It takes weeks what had only taken days before, but slowly, they're getting closer to home. He does his best to stay warm and keep spirits up. There's no blood lust to keep the warriors moving, so he has to use the motivation of seeing loved ones, of getting a chance to honor the dead, of which there have been too many. He knows all their names, the dead and the living, though he tries to stay distant from them. He is there to lead, it won't do to become to attached to anyone. Besides, he already has enough people he cares about.

Actually getting home is so sudden. One second everything in front of them is just solid, white snow. And then suddenly there's light, fires from the village, closer than they'd realized and the guards are calling out greetings and people are swarming out of their huts to meet them. It's sort of stunning, to suddenly have reached his goal, to be back where he wanted, and everything sort of feels slow and unreal. He stands there for a moment, watching people fade in and out of the snow with bright smiles, arms wrapping around each other.

He turns just before he gets barreled into by his sister, who throws herself into his arms with a shout of glee. “You're back!” and then, “And your reflexes suck, as always.”

“Missed you too, O.” He hugs his sister to him, feeling relief wash through his body, and then his eyes catch on blonde hair and Clarke is there, standing a few feet away, lips parted in surprise and eyes watery and she looks as relieved as he feels.

Het lets his sister go gently and she steps away, beaming up at him, and notices his gaze. Her smile goes smug and she steps aside, leaving his path to Clarke clear. For a second, it's like time just hangs there, and then he finds himself moving, striding across the space to catch Clarke's mouth with his. He bends down to reach her and she pushes up closer to him and twines her arms around his neck. When their lips part, breathless, Clarke lets out a small sigh, the tension leaving her shoulders and he can't help but smile.

“You came home,” she murmurs.

“Did you doubt me?”

Clarke smiles up at him, a smile that's somewhere between shy and teasing. “Not as much as your sister.”

“You two are so supportive,” Bellamy grumbles, but he knows the effect is ruined by his wide smile because he's _home_. Clarke stretches up to brush her fingers against his temple and he tries not to wince as she finds a gash there.

“You're a mess. You're going to need a bath before I can even figure out which of this blood is yours,” Clarke scolds.

“It's a little hard to come across chances to bathe in the midst of a blizzard and a war, you know.” Clarke takes his hand and is leading him back to the hut, grinning at his attempt at a grumpy expression.

“Well, _I_ happened to be heating some water for a bath and just this once, I'll let you have it instead.” Bellamy nearly groans at the thought. The reality of a warm bath has been so, so far from him for so long. He's already anticipating how heavenly that will be for his muscles.

He doesn't take into account how much the warm water will sting his cuts and he curses furiously while Clarke sits in the corner, pointedly not looking at him and giggling at his language. He sinks into the wooden tub by the fire, hissing a little.

“Fucking _hell_.”

“Get all the blood and dirt off so I can make sure you don't need stitches,” Clarke commands from her corner, nose buried in the fairytale book. It's her and that book that does it, the words just kind of slipping out.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Clarke does look at him then, and even though the wooden tub comes up to his mid stomach, so he's really not that exposed, he feels very, very bare. He expects her to say something, but she looks at for a moment, and then smiles, a sort of pleased, quiet smile.

It's wonderful to be warm again, but he's slowly becoming less numb and more and more aware of every ache and stinging cut. It becomes pretty clear quickly that he's nowhere near as wounded as Clarke had worried and most of the blood isn't his. It's nothing he can't handle, but it's also not ideal, so he washes with as much efficiency as he can, the water starting to go cool around him. At some point in his absence, Clarke had piled all their furs together, creating one, larger bed, and by the time he climbs out of the tub, drying himself as quickly as possible, she's curled up asleep.

He hovers for a moment, despite the cold of the air, watching the way her face is smoothed out in sleep. It feels like a dream, being back here, not quite real. He slips into the furs next to her and she lets out a sleepy sigh, curling into his side. She's all warm, soft skin and he wraps an arm around her, anchoring himself to here, to this moment now.

“I missed you,” she whispers, and he opens his eyes to see Clarke blinking at him, expression gentle. She edges closer and presses her nose into his neck.

“Missed you too, Princess.”

Clarke huffs out a little laugh and Bellamy feels warm all the way down to his bones. He falls asleep with her heartbeat against his skin.

He wakes up in the early morning, when the sun is still down and the fire is low, just a few burning embers. The last thing he wants to do is get out of bed, where Clarke is draped over him and breathing deeply, but they'll both regret later if he lets the fire die, so he crawls out of bed, Clarke making light noises of protest, as she rolls over.

It's stunningly cold out and Bellamy hugs his arms to his body as he waits for the additional wood he's added to ignite. It catches slowly, and he feeds in several larger pieces to keep it burning for several hours. Satisfied, he pads back to bed, slipping in next to Clarke, basking in her heat.

“You're freezing,” she whines sleepily, pushing at his shoulder and squirming away from him. He catches her and drags her closer, ignoring her complaints.

“What did you _do,_ go roll in the snow?” Clarke has her eyes squeezed tight, nose crinkled up and she's pretty much the definition of adorable.

“You're just not used to it. Most of us have experienced winter before,” he tells her, pressing his nose to her collarbone.

She elbows him, muttering, “Why did I miss you again?” They settle, Bellamy curled around her and she slides her fingers into his curls, working out the tangles. Bellamy closes his eyes as goosebumps break out across the back of his neck. He shivers and snuggles closer, home, home, home.

He kisses her collarbone, and she pulls him up to kiss him for real. It's somehow new and so familiar, like he's been kissing Clarke for weeks, rather than twice in moments of heightened emotion. It's different now, slow and tender and intimate in a way he hasn't experienced before. There's no ferocity or desperation in it, as there had been before. It feels good not to be in a hurry.

Clarke sighs into him then, and her eyelashes brush against his cheek. She's all loose limbs and content sighs and he's not really sure how he got here. He rolls onto his back and Clarke follows him a bit, looping an arm across his abdomen.

“Go back to sleep,” he tells her. It's early and he's home and they have time.

“Mhm,” Clarke mumbles, already halfway there. He lies awake for awhile, listening to Clarke breathe and trying to convince himself this is real. He's where he wants to be, but for some reason, it feels like something that can't last.

It's weird to discover that time has passed here in the village. He knows, of course things were moving on and changing while he was away, but the place he had pictured coming back to had been a static image in his head. It's different. His sister's hair is longer and Meera is thinner and Nyko seems slightly softer and Clarke. Clarke is blossoming. She flits around the village with ease, chatting with people brightly and working until late hours with Nyko. She smiles at him all the time, big, wide, easy smiles and leans into his touches and even more into his kisses. He doesn't know why he's unsettled, but he wants to give in so much to happiness that's at the edge of his feelings, seeping in from his surroundings.

But then, of course, people start getting sick. It's not anything they haven't seen before, but it's bad. The ground is frozen solid and there are only so many supplies so there are bound to be fatalities. If the war weren't enough, now there's this, and he sees it in the tightness of Clarke's shoulders and how tired her eyes get. She's gone when he wakes up in the mornings and comes home late. He tries to stay awake to wait for her, but often he wakes only when she curls up next to him.

“You're working too hard,” he tries to tell her, but his words consistently fall on deaf ears. It's taking a toll on her, watching more and more people fall ill, practically working her fingers to the bone trying to help them. And he can't do anything. He wants to badly to do something, but he's only good with weapons or words and neither one is going to save lives.

She doesn't break until they lose a little girl, no more than three. Bellamy hates it, of course he hates it, but he's known this would happen. It happens every year and as bad as it always is, there's a certain resigned feeling he can't help but get. Clarke is different. She isn't used to it the way he is and he finds her curled up in a ball in their furs, eyes far away and glassy.

He approaches her slowly, a hand on her back. She blinks a couple of times, but her eyes stay so distant. He's never seen her like this, but he's had a similar experience with Octavia and he tries to keep himself calm because it scares him.

“Clarke?”

She doesn't say anything, but turns towards him and buries her face into his chest. She wasn't crying before, but he can feel her tears on his neck.

“She was so small,” Clarke whispers, her voice catching and rasping. Bellamy presses a kiss to her hair, but he doesn't know how to respond to that, because she was, and it's a tragedy and it feels wrong to say that it will be okay.

“I couldn't save her.”

“You can't save everyone,” he whispers, because that's something he's had to come to terms with himself. He had to let his father go and then his mother and friends after that. It's a tough lesson to learn.

“Maybe I can,” she says softly, but it doesn't matter what else he says, she doesn't explain the the sentence. An he's got a feeling, deep in his chest, that whatever she's talking about, she means it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit of a fluffy/transitional chapter before we're back to Clarke and learn a little more about what decisions she's going to have to make and possibly more about the Ark. Thanks for all the feedback!


	9. We Too Shall Rest

_"Only the rhythm of love escapes the harmonies,_

_leaving us a beat._

_In these hands I'll hide,_

_while this world collides._

_It's not enough for me."_

Sometimes it's easy to forget why she ever came down here, and that scares her. After Bellamy had left, she took the watch off. She hates the weight of it on her wrist, a heavy reminder. But she can't bring herself to get rid of it entirely. She's stopped expecting an answer when she turns it on at night, so when she gets something other than static, she almost drops it in surprise.

“Hello?”

“Clarke?” Her mother's voice is strained, but her mother all the same.

“Mom.” She doesn't know if she's relieved or terrified. Is it wrong that part of her want to forget where she came from entirely? She could be happy down here.

“Oh, thank God. I thought I wouldn't hear from you again.”

“What happened?” Clarke feels distant from this, like she's outside her body, watching this conversation happen to someone else.

“There's been... a bit of an uprising. A group wrecked our radio communication. But that doesn't matter. Are you okay, baby? Things are taking longer to work out up here than I thought, I don't know when we'll be able to get to you.”

“I'm fine, Mom. Listen, you can't let the Council do anything to the natives down here, okay? They can help us, but only if we don't do anything that they'll interpret as an act of war. Let me tell them that you're coming. I could start to try to set up proper relations-”  
“-Absolutely not. Clarke, you _cannot_ tell them that we're coming or make them any promises.”

“Mom. What do you think is going to happen if they think I've been lying to them all this time?” Clarke pushes away the images of Bellamy's face that the words cause. It makes her feel sick.

“Clarke, it isn't safe for them to know. With our situation up here we will come down weak. We can't have that being taken advantage of. It's all I can do to try to keep the Council from wiping out as many of them as possible before we come down. If you tell them, you'll be considered a traitor. You'll never get to come home, Clarke.”

Clarke wants to cry out in frustration, but she swallows it. “I'm just trying to keep people from dying!”

“We're all doing our best,” her mother says evenly and Clarke hates that she can talk about it like this, like it's facts and figures and logic and not _people_. She can't see it like that, she never could.

“That's not good enough,” Clarke snaps back. “I can't just do nothing.”

“That's exactly what you'll do. Because if you don't, you'll never see me or your father or Wells or anyone from the Ark ever again. You'll be an outcast. Is that what you want?”

Clarke isn't known for making rash decisions, but she's so angry that she doesn't think about it when she flings the watch across the room. Maybe she wouldn't be so angry if she didn't feel that her mother has a bit of a point, but when she goes to retrieve the watch, which is lying under one of the medical tables in the corner, she almost laughs, because of course her rash decisions always have consequences. The face of the watch is shattered, the hands still, and no matter what she does, she can't get it to work. She's destroyed her only connection to the Ark and she doesn't know, more than anything, she feels relieved.

She takes as much time as she feels like she can without being missed, to gather herself and head home for the evening. Bellamy has often been asleep by the time she gets back at night, but tonight he's pacing back and forth. Clarke pauses in the doorway, watching his path, worried.

“Bell?”

He turns to look at her, and she relaxes at the huge smile on his face. “I'm going to be an uncle.” He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. “I mean, I knew, sort of. But she didn't want to say and I guess you knew because she's been going to you and Nyko, but she's past the first trimester now and everything looks good and I'm going to be an uncle.” He says all this very fast.

And two seconds ago she'd been trying to figure out if or how she should start to tell him about the things she very much doesn't want to face, but he's lit up, vibrantly happy, and the words just dry up in her throat. She's a coward, maybe, but then that's just what she is.

“An uncle,” he repeats, and she can tell he's still struggling to believe it. She knows Bellamy raised Octavia after their mother died and she's occasionally seen him with children around the camp, but she hadn't realized how much he seems to like kids. She wonders if it's all kids, or just because it's his sister's.

“You're lucky,” Clarke says, even though all of her knowledge on this comes from old movies she'd watched on the Ark, since no one has any siblings. “You'll get to be the one who spoils the kid and never has to punish it.”

His smile widens and he flops down onto the furs, with an audible sigh. “I hope it's a girl.”

Clarke follows him more slowly, sitting with her legs crossed next to him. “Why?”

He turns his head to look at her and his smile is downright wicked. “Because any daughter of Octavia's is going to be just like her and she deserves to understand what a terror she was at fourteen.”

Clarke snorts and punches him in the arm. “And here I thought you were being sweet.”

Bellamy rolls to his side and hooks an arm around her waist, tugging her down. “I _am_ sweet. I just also believe in karma,” he argues.

She rolls her eyes and is about to needle him a bit, but he kisses her and she gets distracted. It's easy to forget just about everything else when Bellamy is kissing her. She slides her fingers into his hair. She loves his curls. He settles a little more weight onto her and she loves that too. She needs that, sometimes, the physicality that grounds her in the moment. She's here, with him. She never used to like the idea of losing herself in another person. It had always seemed so suffocating, like giving something up, but that's not what this feels like at all. This just feels like safety, like home.

She slips one of her hands up the back of his shirt. His skin is always so warm and Clarke remembers from her medicial trianing that men often run a few degrees warmer than women, but Bellamy feels like a furnace, his skin on fire.

“Stop making out, you idiots are missing dinner!” Octavia's voice pierces the silence and the door to the hut, which she must have opened while Clarke and Bellamy were distracted, slams shut before Clarke can send a glare in her direction. Bellamy sighs and rolls onto his back.

“I really hope her baby is a girl,” he repeats.

This time, Clarke laughs.

Kissing Bellamy is a distraction for a while, but it's not like she gets to do that all day, so it doesn't keep her worries and feelings of guilt at bay. If anything, the more time she spends with Bellamy, the more conflicted she feels about her secrets. She could tell him that the Ark is coming down, that they might drop bombs before they do, not that she knows where, or how many, or if they can change that location, or anything really. She could tell him that, and just never see her mother or her father or her best friend ever again. She thinks that would be worth it, if she knew she could save lives, but she doesn't. Even if they evacuated the entire village (which she doubts they would do on her word alone) she has no way to tell them where is safe, if this particular village was even a target, nothing.

It's in these moments that she regrets smashing the watch. She doubts she would have gotten that out of her mother, but now she will never know. And everything comes back to Bellamy, who, no matter what she does, she feels she should have already told. If she tells him, there's no guarantee that he will forgive her, she's been lying to him for months. No matter what she does, it's a risk. She doesn't want to lose _anyone_ , but that feels so inevitable.

She doesn't know how to handle it and her anxiety paralyzes her. She can feel herself start to drift, pulling away from everyone, but particularly Bellamy. He doesn't say anything about it, his concern is quiet, communicated in glances and the tight lines around his mouth. She knows it's taking a toll on him because his smiles become tentative and his touches cautious and she hates that she's too afraid and guilty to stop it. She doesn't want to ruin everything. That's exactly the problem.

Clarke doesn't realize that other people notice the distane she's created at first. Outwardly, things are mostly the same. She and Bellamy sit together at meals and sleep in the same bed and talk fairly normally, but it's tense and strained and not right.

Lincoln approaches her at dinner. He sometimes sits with them, when Octavia does, but he's generally quiet, aside from their language lessons and, in many ways, he's still someone Clarke doesn't think she understands.

“Clarke? Will you walk with me?”

She's startled by the question, but she nods, passing her bowl to Bellamy, who takes it without their fingers brushing. She swallows the lump in her throat and follows Lincoln. They walk in silence for several moments before she decides to breach it.

“Is this about Octavia? Is she feeling okay?”

A warm smiles passes over his lips. “She is well. Terrorizing anyone who suggests that her pregnancy should slow her down.”

Clarke laughs. “That sounds about right.”

“I was actually wondering if _you_ are okay?”

She's so stunned, her voice comes out too high. “Me? I'm fine.”

The look Lincoln gives her is entirely unimpressed. “Then why are you and Bellamy unhappy?”

“We're...” But the lump in her throat is only growing and she has to stop talking. They come to a halt, Clarke staring out at the woods over Lincoln's shoulder, rather than meeting his eyes.

“You care for him.” It's a statement, but she knows he's waiting for her to confirm.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“But he's beginning to think you do not.” Lincoln eyes are warm, but she can't look at them for more than a moment.

“I don't know how to explain.” And she doesn't. There's no one she can explain to. She wishes so much for Wells, who would have listened and told her exactly what he thought she should do, whatever he believed to be the right thing. These days, she isn't sure what that is.

“Because you have secrets,” Lincoln says. There's no judgment in his tone, but it makes her flinch. Does he suspect her of something? She has no idea what to say to that.

“It is okay, Clarke,” he continues. “They may be big, but I trust that you have a good reason for keeping them to yourself, whatever they are.” She doesn't know if she thinks he is kind or foolish for saying so.

“ _I_ don't even know if I do,” she admits. She can't tell Lincoln. If she's going to ruin her chance to go home, she's going to do it by telling Bellamy. But Lincoln isn't asking.

“Then you will figure it out. But whatever the secrets are, you care for Bellamy. You should make sure he knows that. And if you can't talk about something, you shouldn't dwell on it. Things are what they are.”

“You really believe that?” She doesn't know how to let go of her worry. She doesn't know how to make the decision, either tell the truth or just carry on like nothing is wrong. But she wants to.

“I do.” Lincoln puts a hand on her shoulder. “Being afraid solves nothing.”

Clarke lets out a deep breath. She doesn't know what she's going to do, but she wants to believe that Lincoln is right, that whatever she does, it can't be this.

Bellamy is sitting on their bed, staring at his hands when she comes home. He looks up when she walks in and waits until she's sitting next to him to speak.

“Is Octavia okay?”

“Yes. Lincoln says she's mostly annoyed at people trying to take work away from her.” She watches the edges of his lips lift at that and tries to figure out what to do. She's afraid, so she does what is easiest and kisses him. He kisses her back too, for a few moments, before he seems to get a grip on himself and think better of it, putting his hands on his shoulders and pulling back, holding her there.

“Clarke.” His voice sounds somewhere between annoyed and pleading. She looks back at him, the conflict on his face and the hurt in his eyes and she wants to say something to fix that, but she can't think of a single word. Before she can find any, he starts talking again.

“I don't understand what you want,” he says his voice soft and tired. “You run so hot and cold and I don't know why. And I just kept trying to think about anything I might have done or said, but I can't think of anything and I can't do this back and forth thing. I'll go out of my mind, okay?”

Clarke takes a slow breath. “I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“For which part?” he asks, and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I'm just scared,” she manages. And she is. Scared and overwhelmed and confused and so many other things.

“Why?” She can't tell if he's exasperated or desperate and she just reacts.

“Because I need you.” She feels herself flush instantly because she knows that “need” is basically just a place holder until she's brave enough to admit she means “love” and she's known it for some time, but she hadn't intended to say it, and Bellamy just looks stunned, frozen in place, because he knows too. “And,” she continues more quietly, “I'm afraid of losing you.” That was probably the more relevant bit, and she's hoping that'll be what he focuses on.

Bellamy lets out a deep, shuddering breath and his forehead drops down to rest against her temple. She can't see him at this angle, but she feels his eyelashes brush against her skin as he closes his eyes.

His tone is relieved, but also sad. “Princess.”

She isn't entirely sure what he means by it, but he's closer than he's been in days, so she just lets herself keep talking. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” he says, and she takes a chance and pulls away to look at him. She can't tell what he's thinking, even with such expressive eyes, but then he leans forward and kisses her and this, this she can do, all soft lips and sharp breaths and closed eyes.

She leans backwards, and he follows her down, and this is what she wanted to know it's real, his weight, solid against her. Because she feels like can't have him, but she does.

“I need you too,” he murmurs, lips at the juncture of her jaw and neck and she knows that he means the exact same thing that she does, even if they haven't used the word. This is when she realizes, with her heart thundering in her chest, that she might have him, but he has her even more. 

Before, there's always been a relaxed, unrushed feeling, but it's different now. There's a determination in Bellamy's touch and his fever bright eyes. Whatever that feeling it is, it's catching, and Clarke can't seem to do anything but want more, no matter how much she gets.

He pauses only once, hovering over her with swollen lips and flushed skin. “Have you done this before?” he asks and it's not until he asks her that she realizes she should probably be nervous, but she doesn't feel it. He only ever makes her feel safe.

“Not with a boy.”

There's just a ghost of a smile on his lips when he kisses her again, this one slower, less rushed. “Okay,” he tells her, his voice low and drawn out like molasses. “We'll go slow.”

Clarke feels something settle in her chest, because she loves him, and whatever decision she makes, to tell him, or not to, however he reacts, whether she loses him or her family or both, this moment here will always be hers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this is a little late. I'm in finals right now (five days of school left, yay!) so I've been very busy and not very focused on this. I hope you guys like this chapter okay. I've had it plotted out for a while, but I wrote it in an bit of a rush, so I haven't checked over it at all. If you see any obvious mistakes, please let me know. My brains are mush right now, so it's a miracle a produced anything. I'm hoping I can get the next chapter out on time, but I have my finals Monday through Wednesday, so I'm not going to guarantee anything for next Friday. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading and commenting!


	10. I'm The Satellite And You're The Sky

_"Through all the things my eyes have seen,_

_the best by far is you._

_For all the things my hands have held,_

_the best by far is you."_

He knows enough about himself to know that once he's committed to something, that's it. He's all in. And it's a little terrifying, knowing Clarke, who has a warmth and openness on the outside, but is more guarded when you get close. They're opposites really. He's got walls a mile high, but once you're inside, you're in. Clarke is welcoming to an extent, but she keeps the important things protected. He doesn't want her to pull away again, and he's watching for it. He doesn't know why she can't trust that he's serious about her, but now that he knows to look for it, he can see that fear, every now and then, surfacing in her eyes.

He doesn't know how to combat it, other than with as much affection as he has in him. It has to work to an extent, because she gravitates towards him, letting him keep regular contact between them, an arm around her, clasped hands, a kiss to her temple in public, more heat between them in private. Sometimes, her touch edges on feverish, but she isn't shying away from him, _them_ , and he doesn't ask. Clarke might be a mystery sometimes, or most of the time, but he knows her, recognizes some part of her soul, and he can live with not always understanding the look in her eyes or the reasons behind it.

He doesn't know how much it helps her, but it helps him, holding her hand, putting an arm around her when they walk, kissing by the fire at dinner until Octavia threatens to throw her bowl at his head. He likes being in contact with Clarke, like if he's touching her, she won't slip away from him again. It's nonsense, he knows, but he feels it all the same.

He doesn't realize that Clarke is uncomfortable with parts of her body until he's sliding a hand over the soft curve of her waist and he sees her lips press into a frown.

“What?” he asks, worried she might be hurt or upset.

Clarke looks a bit startled that he's called her on it. “It's nothing. I just hate my stomach.”

Bellamy blinks at her, nonplussed. “What?” The flush in Clarke's cheeks darkens.

“It's just... I mean, I'm not like any of the girls down here. You know, all lean and thin and _firm_.” Clarke isn't meeting his eyes. Her line of thinking baffles him. Everything she just said are things he loves about her, the way her body is curved and soft in an intoxicating, mesmerizing way he's never experienced before.

“Clarke,” he says softly, placing his hand deliberately back on where her waist bows outward, her body soft and warm against his skin. She looks up at him and her eyes are vulnerable, but waiting, trusting him.

“You're not like any of the other girls down here, but I love that so much. I don't... I didn't even know it was possible for someone to look like you because you're so stunning, Princess.” He lets his fingers trail over her stomach. “And this?” She shivers under his hands. “This is gorgeous. You're sexy as Hell, Clarke. It drives me crazy.”

He barely has time to finish before her lips are on his and she kisses him so intensely, he feels it all the way down to his bones.

He makes a point to vocalize his awe and desire for her after that. He would have done it earlier, if he'd had any _notion_ that it wasn't already painfully obvious. It's incredibly satisfying to watch a blush rise in her cheeks when he compliments her and the way she grows increasingly comfortable and confident under his hands.

He loves her, with a ferocity that he suspects should scare him, but doesn't. It's just so easy, like it always going to happen, like it's as natural as the sun rising. He thinks she might love him too, but he doesn't expect her to be the first one to say it. He finds he doesn't mind. He can see it in her eyes in the mornings, when the world is still quiet and they have absolutely no obligation and are free to lie in each other's arms and just be. He tastes it on her lips and skin and at the juncture where he neck meets her jaw. Sometimes, he even hears it, though it is less common. Clarke is quiet in bed, something he suspects has to do with her need to be completely in control of herself. So when she isn't able to stay quiet, first breath gasps and muffled curses, and then his name, he feels something between triumph and devotion.

The winter is harsh, but the days seem brighter than he remembers from the past and the only thing that pulls him away from his time with Clarke is Octavia. Bundled in all her thick furs, her stomach is still small enough that it's impossible to tell she's pregnant. Still, everyone knows, and Octavia alternates from being proud and annoyed, depending on her mood swings. Bellamy would never say it out loud, but he is beyond thankful for Lincoln, whose quiet calm balances out Octavia's fire. His sister has always been a handful, but his sister full of wacky hormones can be a downright terror. Even so, he loves spending time with her, knowing that her time for him will decrease greatly once the baby comes.

“I bet it's a girl,” Bellamy says, trying to hide his smirk as he remembers the conversation he'd had with Clarke.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “No way. This baby is a boy. He'll be just like his father.”

Bellamy laughs. “Please, that baby already kicks way too much to be anything like Lincoln. You know Nyko and Clarke think it's a girl too.”

“Doesn't prove anything,” Octavia waves the evidence away. He knows it's useless to try to convince Octavia of anything, but the banter has him grinning.

“You don't know anything about babies, O.”

“Oh, and you're an expert?” she snarks, shifting on her bed to get more comfortable. She's sprained her ankle two days before, trying to prove being pregnant couldn't slow her down. She'd protested Clarke's assigned bed rest, but Lincoln had put his foot down, something Bellamy had _never_ seen the man do, and Octavia had given in with only mild objections. He's been visiting her more and more to try to keep her occupied.

“More than you, anyway,” he tells her. He knows babies rather well, but he's never told Octavia just how much he'd had to do for her. He likes her to believe that their mother had cared about her daughter.

“Being a big brother doesn't make you an expert on baby _genders_ ,” Octavia argues.

Bellamy grins. “You never quit kicking Mom either. You're definitely having a girl.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Octavia growls, and throws a glove at him, but he takes that as a win.

“I actually do have to get going,” he says, dropping a kiss to her forehead before leaving.

“Are you ditching me for Clarke?” Octavia yells after him. Bellamy laughs, but doesn't answer. He wishes he was ditching her for Clarke, but it's nothing so glamorous as that. Being War Chief doesn't exempt him from long, cold shifts on watch at the village perimeter.

His watch goes late into the night and he can barely feel his toes by the time that Penn shows up to relieve him. The two exchange silent nods as Penn takes his place. Bellamy doesn't know Penn as well as Octavia does, the two being in age and going through training together, but Bellamy has always liked Penn fine. Still, these days, when he sees the other boys, he can't help but remember Octavia's warnings, that Penn was infatuated with Clarke, that the only thing stopping him from making a move was Bellamy.

He tries not to let this bother him. Penn has been nothing but respectful of the relationship between him and Clarke. Bellamy doesn't dislike him, and he knows he has nothing to worry about, but the reminder of the fact that things could have gone very differently pushes at him whenever he comes face to face with Penn. He can't take Clarke for granted.

She's asleep when he crawls into bed next to her, but she stirs and rolls over to face him, sighing as her eyelids flutter.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, but she reaches for his hands, her eyes blinking blearily. She tugs his hands up to her lips and her breath is hot on his fingers, warming them.

“You're freezing,” she grumbles, but these days, instead of trying to squirm away from him, she presses closer, her body heat glorious against his skin. So much affection swells up in his chest for her in this state, half asleep, grumbling, and trying to take care of him.

“I love you.” He didn't plan on saying it, but not that it's out, he only feels it stronger. Clarke blinks for a moment, before a smile curls over her lips, which transforms into a stifled yawn.

“You really have the worst timing,” she exhales. “You could have at least waited for a time when I was fully awake.”

“I really couldn't have,” he responds, because he couldn't wait one more second, no matter how much she and his sister will tease him about it later. Clarke leans up to kiss him and melts a little, her muscles relaxing. When she pulls back, her eyes stay closed.

“I'm choosing a better time,” she says smugly and he laughs because she doesn't have to say it, he knows. He falls asleep feeling lighter than he ever has before.

It's only the next morning, when he's got his head between her thighs, that she lets out a little sigh and gasps, _“Fuck, I love you_. _”_

He waits for her to come down from her high before he grins up at her, chin resting just below her bellybutton and says,

“ _That_ was your better time?”

Clarke swats feebly at his shoulder and tries to put a defiant expression on her face, or at least he thinks that's what she's trying to do, but she's too blissed out to manage it.

“It was,” she protests lightly.

“How is mid-orgasm a better time?” he questions.

“It just is,” Clarke insists. “Everything is better mid-orgasm.” Bellamy rolls his eyes, making sure she sees that he's not buying it.

“Fine, I'll show you,” Clarke grins, eyes bright, and she shuts him up real fast.

He starts taking Octavia on walks while her ankle heals. It's he only thing that seems to be keeping her sane. Octavia absolutely can't stand being cooped up. He's pretty sure she's claustrophobic, even though she'd never admit to it.

It's cold, but the sky has been clear for days and Octavia's eyes are bright and he's glad he can give that to her. She's practically glowing in the afternoon light.

“How's the baby?” he asks, as they leave the perimeter of camp, boots crunching in the snow.

“ _He's_ lovely,” Octavia says, smiling sweetly at him. Bellamy decides to let it go this time. He'll get his last word in when the baby is born, or maybe when the girl is fourteen and giving Octavia hell.

“And you?” he prompts.

“I'm _fine_ , stop asking.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “You're almost worse than Lincoln.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Bellamy asks, but he's joking. Octavia and Lincoln adore each other, that much is clear. Octavia snorts and doesn't bother to answer him.

“What about you and Clarke?” Octavia asks.

“What about us?” He tries to keep his voice neutral. Octavia has a way of dragging information out of him and he's not ready to share some of the things he's been thinking about him and Clarke.

“You know exactly what I mean, Bell. You two are practically attached at the hip.”

He shrugs. “Things are good.” He wishes he could keep the stupid smile off his face when he's talking about her. Octavia is studying him.

“It'll be easier if you just tell me,” Octavia says slowly. “I know that look. You're not telling me something.” He meets his sister's eyes and feels the fight going out of him. He shouldn't tell her, but he does anyway.

“I'm going to ask Clarke to marry me.”

Octavia looks genuinely stunned, staring at him. “Excuse me, what?”

Bellamy shrugs. “You heard me.” He knows he will never be able to explain this to Octavia. She's not like him. He knows how he feels and he knows what he wants.

“Fucking hell, Bellamy! You can't do that! Only two weeks ago, you two were barely speaking to each other.”

“That doesn't matter,” Bellamy says firmly. He knew his sister would have a time accepting this, but he still hates fighting with her. Octavia has been with Lincoln from the moment she was old enough that he'd have her, but he doubts the two will every marry. Marriage is highly rare with his people, considered unnecessary for commitment, but Bellamy has always imagined it for himself one day, if he loved someone.

“This isn't some fairytale and she not the princess from the book! It's like you actually believe she's your soulmate!” Octavia's face goes blank as soon as she's said it, and suddenly she's not yelling. Instead, her voice goes soft and very sad. “Oh, Bell. You really do believe that, don't you?”

Bellamy shrugs and looks away, because he can't give her the answer she wants.

“Bell, there's no such thing as soulmates. You know that.” Octavia is practically pleading with him, which is something he simply does not do.

“It doesn't matter,” Bellamy feels his voice come out rough. “You can call it whatever you want, O. She's it. I don't want anyone else. I've never wanted anyone else.”

“That's not true,” Octavia protests. “What about Echo or-”  
“-Not like this. That was never like this,”

“There's no going back from this, Bell. You get that, right? You'd be tying yourself to her permanently.”

“I _know_ that, O. I _want_ that.”

“You barely know her,” Octavia tries, but her voice sounds resigned. “It hasn't even been a year. If you're so sure, why can't you give it some time?”

“I know you're worried.” Bellamy puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “But before we know it, spring is going to come and I'm going to go back to war. I could die. I don't want to wait. I'm War Chief, O. Something could happen to me easy. It's probably more than likely. I want this first.”

Octavia's shoulders slump. “What if she hurts you?”

“That's a risk I'm willing to take.” Bellamy is confident with his decision, but he wants to reassure his sister, all the same. Octavia lets out a deep breath, but he can see that she's done arguing. She wraps an arm around his waist and leans her head against his shoulder, sighing.

They don't speak again, wandering back to camp, but he keeps her close as they walk and he knows that, no matter what happens, his sister is on his side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!  
> Sorry I had to miss the update last Friday, I was moving and since I wrote last I've had finals, graduated from college, moved, and turned 22, so life has been a little crazy for me.  
> I had a little bit of a dilemma about whether or not I should go ahead and post this chapter. I had intended to take the full week off and just post on Friday, but I'm going out of town for Thanksgiving, so I'm posting early. The next update will be December 4th and it should be regular Fridays from then on out.  
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


	11. When You Broke My Chest

_"And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones._

_'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs,_

_setting fire to our insides for fun,_

_collecting names of the lovers that went wrong._

_And you caused it._

_Well, I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette,_

_a lifeless face that you'll soon forget._

_My eyes are damp from the words you left,_

_ringing in my head when you broke my chest._

_I'm forever missing him."_

She has to tell Bellamy. She's taken her time. She's thought about it, and thought again, and imagined every possible scenario. It all comes back to this; she has to tell Bellamy. She might lose her home, any chance she has with the Ark. She might lose her mother and her father and Wells. But she can survive that. She can't lose Bellamy. Still, telling him is easier said than done. He's going to be angry. She can't blame him for that. She's lied. She's kept secrets. But she's choosing to tell him the truth and he loves her, so she trusts that he'll at least listen. It doesn't mean she's not scared. She's terrified. If this goes badly, if he doesn't forgive her, it will all be for nothing. She'll lose everything.

For his part, Bellamy has been in a bright mood all week. She starts to wonder if it has something to do with Octavia's ankle being fully healed, because she's no longer biting everyone's heads off. Lincoln and Bellamy had been the only ones who voluntarily went near her while she was in recovery. His good mood makes everything harder. More than once, she's opened her mouth to just let it all out and, instead, caught the peaceful expression on his face, the words dying on her tongue. It's easy to put it off, just one more day.

The world doesn't seem to be helping her out much, either. She plans to tell him one night, but Octavia whisks her away, in need of a “girl's night.” Twice, Bellamy goes out on multi-day hunting trips. He's in charge of scheduling the trips, and she could have asked him to send someone else, but she knows he hates the idea that anyone might think he's abusing his power or not doing his share. The truth is, she's relieved every time she's given a reason to stay in this bubble of bliss where they're just allowed to love each other.

He brings back Camellia flowers for her from one of his trips and seems mildly embarrassed about it, until she kisses him fervently, and then he just seems pleased with himself. She has Octavia braid the blossoms into her hair the next day, and it's got Bellamy back to blushing each time he gets glimpses of her with the flowers in her hair. Clarke isn't sure if his flushed cheeks are a reaction to the way she's flaunting his gift, or due to the memory of how _thoroughly_ she'd thanked him for it.

While Bellamy has been brighter and more affectionate than ever, she senses something different from Octavia. They had become quite close while Bellamy was gone, bonding over their shared worry for him, but recently Octavia has been more subdued around her. At first, Clarke had attributed this to the pregnancy. After all, Octavia's going through plenty of changes. Now, Clarke isn't so sure. The more it happens, the more sure she is that it's something to do with her, as Octavia seems perfectly normal around everyone else. Clarke can only take it for so long before she has to ask Octavia about it. She hates the idea that Octavia might be upset with her.

“Are you mad at me?”

Octavia looks up from the arrowhead she's making, startled. “What?”

“Are you mad at me?” Clarke repeats.

“No, of course not.” Octavia waves off the question, but she isn't looking at Clarke and it's not like her to avoid anything. She always jumps headfirst, fearless.

“Then what is it?” Clarke demands. Because there's something. She _knows_ there's something. Octavia stares at her hands for a few more moments, before she sets down the arrowhead with a heavy exhale.

“I like you, Clarke.” Octavia's gaze is direct and somewhat fierce. “But I love Bell. And he's gone a bit mad over you. That scares me. He doesn't do anything halfway and I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do for you. So, like I said, I like you, Clarke, and Bellamy would kill me if he knew I was saying all this to you, but the way he feels about you? It's too much, too fast. And that's all I'll say about it.”

“I love him,” Clarke says quietly, because she can't say she won't hurt him because she already has, even if he doesn't know it yet, “if that helps at all.”

Octavia shrugs. “Don't prove it to me. Prove it to him.”

As uncomfortable as her conversation with Octavia was, it eases the tension between them somewhat. Or, it seems to ease Octavia's tension. Clarke feels worse than ever. Bellamy might forgive her lies, but she thinks Octavia will be much harder to convince. They must appear pretty normal, however, because Bellamy doesn't seem to sense it.

Two days later, there's a brief thaw and suddenly everyone's incredibly busy. Nyko sends Clarke and Lincoln out to dig up some roots while the ground is soft, and the warriors ramp up patrols, afraid that the warmer weather might melt the snow in the mountain passes and prompt attacks from the mountain clans. Bellamy assures her that his scouts say the passes are still fully blocked, but Clarke worries anyway. She has never wanted time to pass slower than she does these days. Every morning they get closer to spring, closer to war, closer to everything she's dreading.

“You think too much,” Bellamy tells her, whenever he catches her with a faraway look in her eyes. Those are the times when she feels the worst, because he's right, she thinks too much and doesn't say enough. She's going to tell him. Soon. She is. She just has to figure out how.

Lincoln comes down with a mild cold and Octavia runs Clarke ragged with her worry. It doesn't matter how many people (Lincoln, Clarke, Nyko, Bellamy) tell her that he's going to be perfectly fine, she fusses constantly, breaks down in tears from her hormones, and then gets angry at her lack of control over her own emotions.

Bellamy is the best at calming her down. She always ignores Clarke and Nyko's official medical opinion, and she only glares at Lincoln when he tries to make reassurances in between coughing fits. Bellamy goes for a tactic of distraction. He removes her from her hut as much as possible, particularly when Clarke or Nyko is checking on Lincoln. He seems to have a constant stream of minor jobs he needs “help” with. Clarke isn't sure if Octavia actually doesn't realize that he's making up work to keep her busy, or if she just doesn't care. Clarke can't always contain her smile when watching the siblings interact. There are no siblings on the Ark and Clarke has always understood why, never thought too much about it. It was easy for her to accept it when she had no examples of what siblings might be like. Seeing Bellamy and Octavia makes her mourn the lack of those relationships on the Ark. She supposes Wells was always something like a brother, but she looks at Bellamy and Octavia and knows that what she had isn't the same.

It's weird to imagine that when they come down here, things will be different. There's enough space and air and resources for everyone. People could have siblings again. The thought is both exciting and terrifying. She's seen the way Bellamy is with kids, knows that he practically raised Octavia. He'll want a baby one day, probably more than one. Clarke, for her part, had always imagined that she might not have a child. It's not as if lack of desire for children was ever frowned upon on the Ark, so it seemed like a logical choice. But now it's not necessarily the logical choice, and she doesn't know how to feel about that.

She's getting ahead of herself, she reasons. There's no reason she needs to be thinking about this so soon, particularly when she has other issues hanging over her head. It's not like she's planning on even thinking about babies anytime soon. It's definitely just seeing Octavia lumbering around, a hand on her swollen stomach.

It should be any other day. It's warmer than usual, even though Bellamy tells her, while rubbing sleep out of his eyes, that there's another snow storm coming, soon.

“How can you possibly know that?” Clarke grumbles as she climbs out of bed, despite Bellamy's attempts to lure her back under the furs. Bellamy flashes her a smug smile.

“Indra, obviously.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and reaches for her pants, but Bellamy's arms snake around her waist and he tugs her backwards.

“Bell,” she says in a warning tone.

“Come back to bed,” he whispers, lips on her neck.

“I don't have time for this,” Clarke whines, even as she melts back into his arms. It had taken all her willpower to crawl out of bed in the first place, and now she's back where she started.

“Sure you do,” is his unhelpful response, teeth flashing against her pulse point.

“Just because you say it, doesn't make it true,” she grumbles, tilting her head back so that he has better access to her neck.

“It is, actually. Nyko gave you the day off.”

Clarke pulls back to look at him. “Why?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“Why did you do that?” Clarke narrows her eyes, trying to figure out his angle on this. Sure, Clarke knows she's a workaholic, but Bellamy wouldn't ask Nyko to give her time off for no reason. Bellamy rolls onto his back, blinking up at her, lips quirked into a grin.

“Who says there's a reason?”

Clarke huffs and shoves at his chest. “Seriously.”

His lips press together, clearly thinking. “We have plans.”

“Yeah, are you gonna let me in on them?”

“Eventually.” He tugs at her hand and she lets him pull her on top of him. His skin is warm, bordering on hot, and a sharp contrast to the cool air. “But what's the rush?” he asks, as his hands slide over her skin. She'd been ready to argue, but the path his hands are tracing has her inclined to agree with him. No rush.

They spend the morning in bed, and Clarke realizes that she hasn't really had a chance to just relax, pretty much since she came down to Earth. She's lying on her stomach, facing Bellamy, head pillowed on her arms. He's propped on his side, one arm stretched out to he can trace his fingers down her spine.

“I think people will notice if we never leave the hut today,” Clarke says, but her body feels so languid, she can't imagine moving.

“Let them notice,” he murmurs. There's an expression on his face that she doesn't recognize, something like apprehension, but she can't imagine why that would be.

“What's that look for?” she asks, shivering under his feather light touch.

“I have to ask you something.” He looks serious, all of a sudden, and Clarke turns on her side, so she can prop herself up to see him better, his hand sliding from her back to her hip. He gets momentarily distracted, eyes dipping down to her chest, and Clarke can't help but feel a little smug how much he loves her tits.

“Okay,” she says, drawing his attention back up to her. “What is it?” His hand tightens on her hip, slightly, and the serious expression is back. He doesn't seem upset, just nervous, and she can't imagine why.

“I-” he pauses and starts again. “Will you marry me?” She blinks at him, opens her mouth, and closes it again. She can't possibly have heard that right.

“What?” Her voice comes out high and breathless. His hand on her hip starts to lift, probably to run through his hair, but she catches it and holds it in place. He feels real, solid, but the rest of this feels like a dream. Bellamy fidgets slightly, and swallows before repeating himself.

“But I thought people down here don't really get married,” is the only thing she can think to say. If marriage was something that people tended to do here, she figures Octavia would have jumped on that a long time ago.

“Not often,” he says, looking exceptionally worried. “But I want to. If you do.” It's mental, is the first thing she thinks. Absolutely insane. But then, it's not any crazier than climbing into a metal pod and hurtling to Earth, where she may or may not meet a friendly people and may or may not even survive the landing. It's not really crazier than so many things she's done lately.

“Yes.” The word slips out of her mouth before she has any conscious thought of saying it. It's Bellamy's turn to look completely stunned, lips parting in surprise.

“Really?” He's wearing a dazed expression.

“ _You_ asked _me!_ Why are you so surprised?” Clarke asks, unable to hold back a laugh that's bubbling up her throat. This whole thing is ridiculous.

“I know,” he says, but he's laughing now too. “I just... I guess I hadn't let myself think much about what you'd say.”

“You're an idiot,” she says fondly, dropping a kiss to the back of his hand, which she's still holding. A wide grin spreads across his face.

“Oh, I don't know. It seems to me that if you really believe that, then _you're_ an idiot for agreeing to marry me.” He looks practically giddy and Clarke can't help herself from smiling back at him, the situation starting to sink in. She's _engaged_. He tugs her in for a kiss, but he's smiling too much for it to work properly.

“You're a smug bastard, you know that?” She grumbles, but her grin ruins it and Bellamy ignores the barb, leaving kisses on her skin between laughs. Things are just starting to go from light and playful to something more intense when the door to the hut bursts open, and Clarke grabs for a fur to cover herself out of instinct.

“What the fuck!” Bellamy snaps, glaring sharply at Penn, who's standing in the doorway, breathing heavily.

“We just saw...” He pauses, gasping for another breath. “Tris and I were out hunting and we just saw something fall from the sky.”

“What?” Bellamy scrambles out of bed, tugging on his pants, as Clarke's heart plummets, reality rushing back in. She's just agreed to marry him and she _hasn't even told him_. Fuck. She goes for her clothes too, trying to dress quickly and listen to Penn's report to Bellamy at the same time. It can't be the Ark. If the Ark had come down, it would have been big enough for everyone to see. At least, so she imagines. She stuffs her feet into her shoes, just as Bellamy's throwing the door to the hut open, calling for some of his warriors to join him. She rushes after him.

“Bell,” she starts, but he turns to her, and he's all business, the ease from earlier gone.

“I have to go deal with this right now,” he says quickly.

“I know, but I need to tell you-”

“-later,” he says, partially gentle, but mostly distracted. “When I get back.”

“She should come,” Penn suggests. “If it's another sky person, it might help to have her around.”

Bellamy frowns, and Clarke is pretty sure he wants to object, probably for some overprotective reason, worrying about her safety, or something like that, but he can clearly see the logic behind Penn's suggestion, because he nods once. Clarke isn't sure if this is better or worse. She doesn't want to tell him about the Ark in front of everyone. She doesn't think Bellamy will appreciate a public confession, being as private as he is, but she doesn't know how much choice she's going to have.

They leave at a fast pace, her, Bellamy, Penn, Tris, Quint, and Sindri. She looks for an opportunity to speak to Bellamy away from the others, but they move quickly, no time for breaks, and they stick to a tight group, making it impossible to talk without being overhead. She's an idiot. She's so stupid for thinking she had time, for putting this off. She should have told him weeks ago, and now... Now she doesn't know.

“What the fuck is that?” Penn says, and Clarke looks around, trying to see what he's seeing, but there's nothing. And then she realizes he isn't looking around, he's looking up. Clarke follows his gaze and she knows what he doesn't. _That_ is the Ark, hurtling towards them, pieces breaking off, about to come smashing down.

Bellamy reacts first, snatching Clarke's hand and pulling her, stumbling after him, breaking into a run. “Move!” he barks out at the rest of them as he goes. And then they're running, nothing but a blur of trees and sky and gasping for breath. Bellamy pulls her to the side and before she knows it, they've tumbled to the ground, sheltering behind a large rock, Bellamy wrapped around her, his heartbeat pounding against her. Two seconds later, the whole ground shakes with the crash.

It goes on for longer than she thought possible, a terrible sound of twisting metal and snapping trees and the ground trembling beneath them. Clarke clings to Bellamy and wishes for it to end. It feels both like only a moment and a century before it does, and Bellamy's standing up, pulling her with him. His jaw is set and his eyes are determined, but Clarke can feel his hand shaking in hers.

There's a large piece of the Ark, only a couple hundred yards away, and down here, broken and smoking, it is completely unrecognizable to Clarke. She stands there, hand linked with Bellamy, just staring. This can't have been how they planned it. Would anyone even survive a crash like that?

“Clarke!” Tris appears out of the nearby woods, bleeding, and her attention is snapped away.

“Are you okay?” Clarke steps towards her, and this time she's the one tugging Bellamy along, his eyes still fixed on the Ark.

“I'm fine. It's not me, it's Quint.” Tris motions for Clarke to follow. He's only a few yards away, lying in the brush, a piece of jagged metal sticking out of his chest. She knows the moment she sees him, there's nothing she can do. Not here, and they don't have time to get him back to camp. Bellamy seems to gather this from her face, but Tris looks hopeful, kneeling next to him.

Clarke swallows, and crouches down. He isn't conscious, at least, and his breathing is shallow. Knowing it's all for naught, Clarke reaches for the wound, his blood smearing on her hands. There's too much blood. Even if she could safely remove the the metal, which she can't, he'd bleed out before they got him back to camp. Tris is looking at her, eyes wide. Clarke shakes her head, trying to suppress her own tears.

“Bellamy!” Penn appears out of the woods, and he too has blood on him, though his seems to stem from a long but shallow cut on his forearm.

“What is it?” Bellamy asks, body tense.

“There are people coming out of the...” It's clear he doesn't know what to call it.

“The Ark,” Clarke speaks up. “It's the Ark.”

Bellamy glances her way, a strange expression on his face, and he opens his mouth, but Penn calls his name again and he takes off after the boy instead. Clarke spares one last glance for Tris, who's leaning over Quint, frowning fiercely, and chases after them. She feels guilty, leaving the other two there, but she can't do anything for him and she can't let Bellamy and Penn confront the Ark survivors without her.

By the time she catches up, Sindri has joined them. Unlike Tris, Penn, and Quint, he appears unscathed, though he looks thoroughly shaken. She can see figures, through the dust and smoke, people from the Ark, wandering in a dazed fashion and she supposes they must be in shock. Whatever had happened, no one was expecting this.

A man strides out of the smoke, the first person who looks like he's pulled together and Clarke realizes, with a shock, that it's Marcus Kane. She freezes in recognition and Bellamy's eyes go to her, confused and worried. She opens her mouth to say something to him, to try to get ahead of this whole mess, but she never gets a chance.

“Clarke?” And that's a voice she knows better than almost any other, as her mother materializes suddenly, throwing herself into Clarke's arms. “Oh, baby, I was so worried. I thought for sure when I stopped being able to contact you that something had happened. I don't know how I would have forgiven myself if I'd lost you before I had a chance to even see you again...” But Clarke doesn't hear the rest of her words, because her eyes have met Bellamy's and it's clear by the expression on his face that he hasn't missed a word her mother has said.

“You _knew_ ,” His voice cuts off her mother's babbling, sharp and clear and way too calm. “You've been talking to them all this time, _spying_ on us, and now Quint is dead and who knows how many others and you never said a _fucking_ word and you _knew!_ ” Every word had gotten louder and by the time he gets to the end of the sentence he's yelling. Penn and Sindri are both staring at her with wide surprised eyes and her mother mostly looks confused and Clarke doesn't even bother to look for Kane's reaction.

“No, Bell, I didn't- It wasn't like that, I-” But she can't even get a full sentence out before he's turned and walked away from her. Clarke stands frozen for a moment, and this is everything she was afraid of, all facing her now. She takes one last look at her mother's stunned face, and she takes off after him.

“Bell!” He doesn't stop walking, shoulders tight. “Bell, please! I'm sorry! I was going to tell you everything! I know I should have already, but I just freaked out! I never meant for it to happen like this!”

He whirls on her suddenly. “Don't you get it!” he yells, and he's the Bellamy that leads his warriors into battle now, hard lines and fire. “I don't get to go home now, not _ever_! We're fucking _engaged_ , Clarke! People _died_ today! We don't even know if the village is still standing! You knew about it and you kept it to yourself! Everyone's going to think I was in on it!”

“But you didn't know,” Clarke pleads. “Surely, they'll understand that you didn't know.”

Bellamy laughs, a harsh, cold laugh, one she's never heard from him before, and never wants to again. “They'll never believe that. Not for one second. Because they'll think too highly of you, even now. After all, what sort of woman would you have to be to keep something like this from me?”

Clarke flinches, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Bell, I-”

“-Don't. You can't _fix_ this. I spoke for you. I took on your actions. I bound myself to you. And this is my punishment. I was warned. My whole life they told me the people from the Sky are monsters. But I wanted so much for it not to be true.” His eyes aren't hot anymore, just far and distant and gone. “You hide it well,” he says finally, and then he walks away from her and this time, Clarke stays rooted to the spot.

She spends the rest of the day in a haze. She feels like everything around her is moving too slowly, out of focus, and she's vaguely aware of her mother, and her hugs and words. She knows she answers her mother, in a slow, muted voice, but she can't even remember what she's said. She doesn't understand how she could have gone from this morning, in bed with Bellamy, him asking her to marry him, to here, among the rubble of the Ark, having lost him.

“Clarke?” It's another voice she knows, warm and concerned, and she nods a little as Wells sits down next to her.

“Your mom says you're in shock,” he tells her, throwing an arm over her shoulder and tugging her into his side. She relaxes slightly against him, the familiarity of it all comforting.

“It went all wrong,” she whispers.

Wells sighs. “Your mom said there was a man who was yelling at you.”

“Bellamy.”

“And he's...”

She's not ready to share exactly who he is, so she just says. “The War Chief of his tribe.”

Wells swears quietly under his breath. “We haven't made a very good impression, then.”

Clarke isn't sure if the sound that comes out of her mouth should be described as a snort or a sob. Either way, Wells seems to recognize the emotion behind it, because he squeezes her a little tighter.

“Where's my dad?” she asks, starting to wonder why she's seen her mom and Wells and even Theolonious, but not her father. If she hadn't been looking at Wells' face, she wouldn't have seen the grimace that crosses it.

“What?” She demands, and her voice comes out stronger than it has since Bellamy walked away from her.

“Fuck,” Wells mutters under his breath. “Your mom didn't want you to know yet.”

“Wells, _what_?”

“He didn't make it,” Wells says very quickly. Even so, the words hover in the air, just hang there, and Clarke can't quite comprehend them. _He didn't make it_.

“He was trying to keep of the Ark together. He bought us some time. He saved a lot of people, Clarke.” But not himself. He didn't save himself. The concept sinks slowly into her skin and if she could feel anything, but hollow, she thinks this on top of everything might kill her. But she just feels like she's floating away, none of this really happening. Her father is dead and Bellamy is gone and she's not sure she'll ever feel anything properly again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a teensy bit late, sorry! So that was really difficult for me to work on. I kept going back and changing things and I ended up cutting the scene I had intended to end the chapter with because it was starting to feel kind of out of character (but it will be appearing in a different form later, though I can't say how without giving away too much). Next chapter we'll get into Bellamy's head with this whole thing and find out what he's going to do next. I'd love to hear your feedback on this chapter!


	12. The Look On Your Face Is Delicate

_"So why'd you fill my sorrows_

_with the words you borrowed_

_from the only place you've known?_

_And why'd you sing hallelujah,_

_if it means nothing to you?_

_Why'd you sing with me at all?"_

 

He wants to hate her. More than anything, he wants to really, truly hate her, because if he could manage that, this wouldn't hurt so much. He doesn't know how this happened. He doesn't know how he never once saw that she was lying to him. Looking back, he feels like an idiot. There were signs, even if they were minor ones, the distant look she'd get sometimes, the way she'd pulled away when they'd first gotten close. And then, what? She realized she needed his information and decided it was worth sleeping with him to get it? He doesn't know what's real anymore, other than the ache in his chest and the fury in his veins and the fact that he walked his own life straight into destruction, eyes wide open and so sure she was real.

He retreats to the caves he and Octavia had played in as children and spends three days wallowing. There's no other word for it, really, and then he gets mad all over again. He channels it into keeping himself alive, hunting and turning animals pelts into a bed, carving himself a bowl and cups for water, anything to not think too much about it.

He's expecting Octavia, but he gets Lincoln, who shows up quietly one morning, and sits down next to him.

“Nyko put her on bedrest,” Lincoln explains, reading the expression on Bellamy's face easily.

“She's okay?”

“Yes, just very pregnant.” Lincoln smiles fondly. “She's demanding that you come home.”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I can't do that. She knows why I can't do that.”

“You could,” Lincoln objects. “Penn and Sindri both told everyone that you were clearly shocked by the whole thing. A lot of people believe you didn't know what was going to happen.”

“And I'm sure a lot of people don't.”

Lincoln sighs. “They've elected Penn War Chief, at least temporarily while this mess gets sorted out. He wouldn't have you killed.”

“Oh, lucky me,” Bellamy snarls. And he's just so angry. “It would never be the same and Octavia knows that. I'll always be the one who fell in love with a girl from the sky before she betrayed all of us.”

“Mmmm.” Lincoln frowns. “I don't think she did.”

“ _Excuse me_?” Because Lincoln can't possibly be defending Clarke to him. He can't be that stupid. 

“You know her, Bellamy. When has she  _ever_ wanted people to get hurt? That's not who she is.”

“She  _knew_ ,” Bellamy hisses. “You weren't there! You didn't see her face or hear what that woman said to her!” Her mother, he's come to realize. He hadn't noticed the similarities between them in the moment, but he's replayed the whole thing over and over and over and he can see it now. That woman was her mother. 

Lincoln inclines his head. “She had secrets,” he admits calmly. “I knew she had secrets. But Penn also told us that the woman mentioned they hadn't been able to contact Clarke recently. This wasn't an attack. Clearly the Ark didn't mean to crash the way it did. They sustained more fatalities than we did. There's no way Clarke could have known that would happen. I believe she knew it was coming down, but not that she ever meant us any harm.”

“She  _lied_ .” Bellamy is just so furious. He's never been angry like this in his life. He'd thought he'd been at his most angry when his mother turned into a cold, careless creature. But he'd learned not to expect much from her. Clarke... This is different. “For months and months and she lied to my face!” 

“She should have told you. I'm not arguing that. But imagine you were in her position. Do you think you would have done better with it? She didn't know us when she was sent down here. She couldn't have known she would end up in the position she did. She made mistakes. But Clarke is my friend, and I choose to forgive her.”

“Well that's fucking  _fantastic_ for you!” Bellamy retreats to the back of the cave, flinging himself down on his pallet and staring up at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears that are in the corners of his eyes. 

Lincoln hovers for a moment. “You know who she is, Bellamy. Let go of your anger and you'll see it.” And then he's gone, but Bellamy knows he'll be back soon. Octavia won't give up on bringing him home so easily.

He hates Lincoln for making him think about how he can't quite hate her. Clarke _, his Clarke,_ had been kind and funny and practically brimming with affection and can tell himself that was all a lie, but he can't feel it. He just feels like she's gone. Like the girl he fell in love with was taken away from him and he's furious about that. He spends a week and half after Lincoln's visit in a rage and nearly breaks his hand punching a tree. He doesn't know who to hate, only that he is so, so angry.

It gives way to melancholy, eventually, and the next time Lincoln comes to see him, he just feels tired and lost. Lincoln tosses a pack of supplies at his feet and sits down at the fire he's built.

“Nyko says the baby could come any day now,” Lincoln says, poking at the fire with a stick. “Octavia is yelling at anyone who tries to bring her things, even though she can't get out of bed. She says she's never doing this again.” He sounds incredibly amused by the whole thing.

Bellamy snorts. That sounds just like his sister. “She'll change her mind. She loves kids. She just hates to admit it.”

Silence falls between the two of them and Bellamy quietly offers Lincoln some tea, which he takes. Bellamy clasps his own cup in his hands, letting the heat sink through and warm him a little.

“I made her a ring,” he says quietly, finally. He hadn't even told Octavia that.

“What?” It's rare to catch Lincoln off balance, but he seems to have done it.

“Clarke.” Her name almost gets lost in his throat. He hasn't said it since he walked away from her. “It's a custom of her people. When they get engaged, the man gives the woman a ring.” He has it still, heavy in his pocket. “I didn't get a chance to give it to her. I tried to destroy it, but...” He shrugs. He doesn't have to say what. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and it's clear from Lincoln's expression that he knows this.

“I stand by what I said about her,” Lincoln says calmly. “We know Clarke. She wouldn't have wanted it like this.”

“Then why didn't she fucking say anything!” Bellamy bursts out and his temper rises so sharply and suddenly these days. “She should have just talked to me! I would have listened to her! I would have done fucking anything for her! But she just kept lying until she couldn't anymore!”

“Did you ever think,” Lincoln starts slowly, “that she was trying to protect you?”

Bellamy laughs sharply. “ _Protect_ me? How the fuck is this protecting me?”

“Not very well,” Lincoln admits, “but you didn't know, and Penn will speak to that and Sindri will speak to that and you _could_ come home, Bellamy. If you'd known, you'd have no choice.”

He shakes his head, anger and hurt and sadness all mixed up inside him until he isn't sure which one is which. He's a complete mess and he knows it, he just isn't sure how to stop.

“If you really love her as much as you said you did, you should at least listen to what she has to say.”

“Fuck off,” Bellamy grumbles under his breath. Lincoln only smiles and finishes his tea and leaves without complaint. And Bellamy sort of wishes he would come back because now it's just him and his thoughts.

It takes him two more weeks of solitude to come to a conclusion, and with it, a temporary peace. He's tried, fiercely, not to love her, but he can't. He still loves her, and he's _furious_ with her, but he can't get any closure hiding here. He doesn't know what will happen, but one way or another, this can only get resolved with Clarke.

He spends two days pretending to pack and getting his courage up enough to go after her. The sky people aren't hard to find. None of them, aside from Clarke, know anything about this world or how to hide in it, so their trail is easy to pick up and it leads him, not surprisingly, right back to where this all started, with the crashed section of the Ark he'd walked away from. It looks better than it did, if still not great. He hovers in the treeline, watching for hours, mentally cursing himself for not thinking to ask Lincoln a _thing_ about what's happening between his people and the sky. He has no idea where relations stand, other than everyone's mad at Clarke, and he doesn't know how he might be received.

He approaches, finally, hands up, and gets yelled at the moment he's spotted. Men swarm out of the gates, guns up and pointed at him. He keeps his chin up, hands raised to show he carries no weapons, not that he's going to let them in on the knife in his boot or under his coat. He's not going into sky people territory entirely unarmed. It doesn't take long for them to circle around him.

“I'm unarmed,” he says loudly, hands up. He's surrounded now, but the men around him look unsure. They aren't the hardened warriors of his people. They're just scared, desperate people, but that makes them trigger happy and dangerous.

“I've come to see Clarke,” he announces to no one in particular. He notices these words cause the men around him to exchange glances, but no one really seems to know what to do. But then a woman, the one he's pretty sure is Clarke's mother, is pushing her way into the circle of men.

“You know Clarke?” He can see the resemblance in her face, though this woman looks sharper, and has dark circles under her eyes, like the ones Clarke had gotten when the flu was going around and she refused to take enough time off.

“I do.”

“And who, exactly, are you?” she demands.

“Bellamy.” He doesn't know what else to say to that, doesn't know what Clarke may have said about him, if anything. The woman's eyes widen.

“You saved her life, when she first came down here.” She isn't looking at him like a mother concerned for her daughter, so he's pretty sure that's _all_ Clarke has said about him, and he's not sure if he's hurt or relieved.

“I did.” He thinks back to that moment, plunging into the ocean and seeing Clarke's face through the glass, eyes closed, blood at her temple. She'd looked so much like a princess.

“I'm Abby,” the woman says, shoving some of the men with guns out of the way as she ushers Bellamy inside the gates, “Clarke's mother.” Her face has gone from surprise to to something like worry. There's an intensity in her that he's seen in Clarke, but never this concentrated. Behind them, he can hear the men grumbling as they head back to their posts, clearly embarrassed that Abby had been forced to take control of the situation.

“Where is she?” he asks, half dreading the moment he has to meet her eyes, but craving it all the same. He's surprised she's not out here already, but then, maybe she doesn't want to see him. He's trying to believe that her feelings for him had been honest, but there's doubt there too. Abby stops walking and looks at Bellamy with a calculated expression.

“You have to understand,” she says slowly, “she's been... inconsolable. As I assume you know, relations between our people are strained and she feels she was not able to do enough. She blames herself for all this. And her father, he didn't survive the landing.” Abby begins to wring her hands. “I tried to help her, but she wouldn't talk to me and she just threw herself into her work, patching up as many injuries as she could. But this past week, this virus has taken over. I've had to set up a quarantine and we've lost fifteen people to it. I tried to keep her away from it, but she wouldn't listen. She just had to try to help everybody. And maybe if she had been sleeping or eating enough she would have been okay.” Abby's voice has become more and more strained as she talks.

“What are you telling me?” he asks, because he thinks he knows, but it simply can't be right.

“She's sick. She's in quarantine and she hasn't been conscious for two days. I don't think I can save her.” He doesn't realize that he's been staring mutely at Abby for an excessive amount of time until she clears her throat, clearly uncomfortable. He knows he should say something, but his mind just feels blank, unaccepting.

“Bellamy?” Abby prompts.

“I need to see her,” he manages, trying to force his brain to process Abby's words, but it doesn't seem to be working.

“You can't go in there. It's quarantine.” Abby shifts her weight a little, chewing on her bottom lip. “There's a window,” she suggests, finally. “If you'd like to see.”

He finds himself nodding, and then following Abby across the camp. There's a feeling that captures him him, then, like he's processing the world too slowly, and it's moving past him in a sort of jerky fashion, like someone's changed the frame rate of his life.

She stops in front of a bit of metal wall with a window set into it that seems indistinguishable from the rest of the Ark ruin to him, but then he catches a glimpse of blonde hair and he's stepped so close to the glass that his nose nearly brushes it. There are four occupied beds on the other side and Clarke is in one of them, hair a pile of blonde curls, and her face smooth in sleep. Aside from the blood she'd had on her temple, she looks just the same as the first time he saw her, a princess through glass.

It hits him then, something in his chest cracking violently. She's _dying_. He's been so angry, letting his fury and pain guide him, but he'd always thought he'd have more time. He'd never thought it was the end, not really, even if he'd sworn it to himself. But here, now, with her pale face on the other side of the glass and Abby's words in his ear, he realizes it might be.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest on the cool glass. He's still there ten minutes later, trying to keep it together, when a hand falls on his shoulder. He jerks out of the grasp instinctively, turning, expecting to see Abby, but discovering she'd slipped away. The young man standing before him has dark skin and calm eyes.

“You're Bellamy,” he says. He holds out a hand to shake. “I'm Wells.”

“How do you know me?” He finds himself asking, as he grasps Wells hand. He should have realized sooner. Clarke had told Bellamy about him, voice fond and faraway. He looks just as she described.

“She talked about you,” Wells answers. “She wasn't sure you would come back for her, but I knew better.”

Bellamy bristles. He's never liked anyone in his personal business, and this boy presuming to know him only from Clarke's words feels like an invasion.

“And why's that?” He manages, trying not to grind his teeth and tell Wells to go away so he can stand at this window and stare in at Clarke until he can't bear to look at her anymore.

“Because she loves you. No sane man would walk away from that.”

If he hadn't burnt out all of his rage over the past couple of weeks, he might punch Wells in the face, because that's exactly what he'd done, isn't it? He'd walked away and he'd come back too late. Instead, he turns his attention back to Clarke, ignoring Wells standing nearby.

“If anyone can fix her, it's Abby,” Wells says quietly.

“She says she can't,” Bellamy spits out, hating the words as they curl over his tongue.

Wells doesn't say anything, but Bellamy doesn't mind because his words have sparked something in his mind. Abby might be the best doctor on the Ark, but this is a disease from the ground. He takes one last look at Clarke and turns and heads for the gates.

“Where are you going?” Wells calls after him, but he doesn't bother to answer.

He's never been afraid to enter his own village before, and standing on the outskirts, he thinks about everything that's gone wrong. He lets his eyes trace the familiar lines of the buildings. It doesn't look any different, but he knows his people sustained causalities when the Ark came down. For the first time, standing there, it doesn't feel like anyone's fault.

He waits until the sun has been set for almost an hour before he slips past the warriors guarding the perimeter. One day, he might try to come back for real, but that is not today. He's lived here his whole life and it's easy to find Nyko's hut in the dark. It's a little harder to duck the knife Nyko flings at him when he creeps through the door unannounced. He swears, extremely relieved that he has fast reflexes.

“Bellamy!” Nyko exclaims, surprise on his face. “What are you doing?”

“I came to see you.”

“Are you hurt?” Nyko's expression turns concerned, eyes scanning over him.

“No. It's not me.”

The door swings open again and Bellamy's muscles tense up, but the figure who ducks in his huge and familiar. Lincoln grins.

“I thought that was you I saw sneaking around,” he says to Bellamy. “Octavia will be along in a moment.”

“Octavia's supposed to be in bed,” Nyko protests.

“She's not letting Bellamy out of this village without seeing him,” Lincoln replies, shrugging.

“I'll go to her,” Bellamy suggests, “After. I just... I need a favor, Nyko.”

“What is it?”

This is the part he's afraid of. “Clarke's sick.”

Nyko's face shutters. Behind him, Lincoln looks torn between a smile and frown, worry for Clarke warring with his happiness that Bellamy's gone back to her. He ignores Lincoln and focuses on Nyko who's shaking his head.

“She's _dying_ , Nyko. They don't know how to save her.” He's a little mad at himself for how fast his voice goes pleading, but fuck it. He's not leaving here without a way to help her.

There's a muscle ticking in Nyko's jaw. “I know you love her, Bellamy. But if I help, that could come down on me too. I'm not ready to betray my people.”

“By doing what, exactly?” He's desperate. He knows that. “You're a healer. You save lives. Clarke's on her deathbead-”  
“-Good. She deserves it.” He turns to see his sister standing next to Lincoln and he's ready with a retort when he realizes two things is very quick succession, the first is that his sister is no longer pregnant, the second that she's holding a baby, bundled in her arms. He loses his train of thought, staring at the two of them.

“You have a niece,” Lincoln breaks the silence. And if it were a different time, if none of the past couple of weeks had happened, he'd tease Octavia because it's a _girl_ , but his sister's face says that this certainly isn't the time. He wants nothing more than to hug his sister and hold his niece, but he doesn't have time for that. Clarke doesn't have time for that.

“She's beautiful, O,” he says, before turning back to Nyko. “It's not just me, Nyko. You care about her too. Will you ever forgive yourself if she dies and you just stood by and let it happen? She would never do that to you.”

“She _did_ that to us,” Octavia interrupts, voice low and furious. Bellamy knows Octavia in this state and he knows nothing he says will change her mind, but the instinct to push back kicks in. No one, absolutely no one, was more hurt by what happened with Clarke than him. But he's been thinking about it, practically every moment of everyday since, and he has come to one very large conclusion. Clarke should have told him about it, why she was there, that she had been in contact with her people, that they would one day come down, and he's mad and hurt that she didn't. But what happened, the Ark breaking up in descent, it falling and killing his people, that isn't anyone's fault. It's certainly not Clarke's. She could have told him, but there's nothing any of them on the ground could have done.

“What happened here isn't her fault, O. While she's been here, she's spent everyday trying to help as many people as possible. And now she needs help and you're all going to turn your back on her?” He directs the last part at Nyko, because that's who he needs to convince tonight.

“If you think-” Octavia starts, but Lincoln interrupts her.

“-he's right,” he says lowly.

“Excuse me, what?” Octavia turns the full force of her furious gaze on him instead of Bellamy.

“He's right. Clarke would do what she had to if it were any one of us.”

Octavia glares at everyone for a few more moments before turning and storming back out of Nyko's hut, her braids whipping behind her at the force of her exit. Nyko is staring at the ground, looking torn. He takes a deep breath.

“I will go,” Nyko says, finally. “Take me to her.”

Bellamy's body feels like it could give out from relief. Nyko knows every illness on the ground. If anyone can help Clarke, it's him.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I'll give you some time to get ready. I'll meet you just outside of camp, to the west,” he leaves the hut then, before he has a chance to break down into tears. Lincoln trails him out of camp and the two of them settle on a couple of fallen logs to wait.

“What's her name?” Bellamy asks after a few moments of silence.

“Ainia.” He can see Lincoln waiting for his reaction out of the corner of his eye. “It seems you've rubbed off on your sister after all.”

Bellamy snorts. “She loved the stories of the Amazons. I'm surprised she didn't choose Aello, though. She was always Octavia's favorite.”

Lincoln grins. “She'll kill me if she knows I told you this, but she was worried other people might think Aello was a boy's name. We've been calling her Nia. It suits her.”

Bellamy sighs. “I wish I could have met her under different circumstances.”

“You'll have plenty of time to get to know her,” Lincoln responds. “It won't always be like this.” They lapse into silence again and stay that way into Nyko melts out of the darkness, his medical bag strapped to his back.

They get back to the Ark site just as the dawn is starting to break, and Bellamy goes through the whole experience of being surrounded by men with guns until Abby storms out again. It would feel like d éjà vu if it weren't for Nyko standing serenely next to him, facing down the guns. 

“Who is he?” Abby demands, eyes trained on Nyko.  
“He's our village healer. He's here for Clarke.” Abby's shoulders loosen, slightly, and he can tell she's studying him, trying to make sure he's telling the truth. But Clarke is her daughter and it doesn't take her long to break, ushering the two of them into the village and toward where she's set up the quarantine.

“Tell me about the symptoms,” Nyko demands, as they walk, and Abby immediately launches into her observations. Bellamy tunes them out. He can do nothing but wait, now. This is in Nyko's hands.

After a quiet argument in which Nyko reminds Abby that he is confident he can combat the illness, she lets him into the quarantine. Abby herself follows. Bellamy had vaguely heard her explain that she'd been one of the first to fall ill, but her system had fought off the virus in a matter of days.

Bellamy waits outside, frustrated that his view of Clarke is obscured by Nyko and Abby leaning over her. For the first time since he saw Clarke on the other side of the glass, Bellamy can begin to breathe again. Nyko and Abby reemerge a short while later, deep in discussion.

“Do you know what it is?” Bellamy asks. “Is she going to be alright?”

Nyko glances up. “I do know what it is. It's fairly simple to treat, and I'm sure I can help her body fight that off. But... She's very weak. She's been ill a long while and she's clearly malnourished. Her body is keeping her unconscious to try to heal her. I will do everything I can, and I believe it will help, I can't guarantee that I can do enough.”

Bellamy glances back at the window, at Clarke's calm, smooth face. She's strong, he thinks, even if right now her body is weak. If Nyko can give her a little help, she can do the rest. For his own sanity, he has to believe that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> I managed to be a little more on time for this update! I don't know what the reactions to this chapter on going to be yet, and I thought a long time about how Bellamy would react and how long he would be angry and if I should allow that to play out longer than I have, but I was reading a book at the same time I was writing this, and I realized I was thinking as I was reading it, “ugh, they're probably going to have this couple have a huge blow up and they'll barely speak to each other or even be in the same scene like all of the second book, just to cause more suspense, when we all know they're going to forgive each other and end up back together and there's no real REASON they can't be together earlier and I hate that we can't ever seem to have couples that fight and then cool off and forgive each other and don't spend hundreds of pages in this awkward place because of poor communication skills.” So I'm not going to do that to my characters. Bellamy and Clarke have issues, and Bellamy needed some time alone because he was mad, but they're going to have to face each other to solve them, and they both know that, so there you go. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention that, despite what I said about regular updates, I forgot that I'm flying across the country next Thursday to visit my college roommate and my sister and see a couple concerts, so the next update will either be early or late, depending on how fast I can get it ready. I definitely won't be posting it while I'm out of town, so it will either be up by next Wednesday or it will be up sometime around the 21 or the 22. That's all! =)


	13. Hope Is Just A Small Thing

_"What goes up, goes up in flames,_

_and now your choices surround you,_

_and decisions confound you,_

_and you're pacing around in place,_

_shows you everything you're not..._

_and it wasn't all we hoped for,_

_but we shake it off and we say,_

_'Here's your yellow ribbon, I am your consolation.'"_

 

_She doesn't remember how she got here, but for some reason this doesn't concern her. It's too pretty, in the clearing with the butterflies lit up like this. There's a strange sense of calm here, and even though she thinks there's something, just outside her ability to grasp, something that makes her head hurt and her chest ache and her throat tighten, she can't focus on it long enough to remember. It's easier not to. She likes it here, sitting in the grass, watching the butterflies move lazily past._

_She isn't sure how long she's been here, only that sometimes, she thinks there's supposed to be someone else here too, but the thought will pass in and out of her head gently. She thinks this must be the meaning of the word content and she knows, deeply, that she's never felt that before._

_But things change. It's slow, so slow it takes her a while to notice. There are less butterflies and the grass isn't so green and the she can't see the stars through the branches arching over her head anymore. And then there are no branches and no grass and no butterflies and just the hard, cold floor of the Ark._

_It's an unfamiliar, sterile room. One of many. Her things are in the corner and she knows why she's here, because it fell from the sky and she has nowhere else to go because she lied to the people she loves and they've left her alone. And she knows it's her fault. That's why she feels more than anything, that she destroyed everything good in her life._

_There's a bed in the middle of the room, so she sits. She can't say why, but she knows she's waiting for something. Someone. Not that it seems likely that anyone will come. She knows she's burned bridges, but something keeps her rooted in place, waiting._

_He comes inside quietly, slowly, eyes downcast, and she's stuck in place, afraid to move and have him leave. They stay like that for a long time, him standing in the doorway, staring at his shoes, and her perched on the bed. When he looks up at her, his eyes are guarded, blank._

_“I'm furious with you,” he says, softly, like he's stating a simple fact, emotionless._

_“I know.” She wants to look away, but she can't escape his eyes. There's something off about him, different, wrong. She wants to find it and draw it out of him, because he shouldn't be like this, even if he hates her, he shouldn't be like this._

_“Good,” he says, and promptly strides across the room to pull her into a bruising kiss. This isn't Bellamy, not the way he should be, but he's there, solid under her fingers and she will take any bit of him she can. He doesn't say another word, but his actions speak volumes, the way all of the softness has gone out of his hands and his lips and he's holding her, but he's cold as stone._

_After, he rolls away from so that their bodies aren't touching and his face is turned towards the door. She wants to reach for him, but she fears that he won't let her._

_“Bell,” she whispers, but he doesn't answer, doesn't move. She's able to hold it together for five minutes before her breath starts coming too fast, and tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. She curls in on herself, trying to muffle her sobs, but she knows Bellamy can hear her. Even so, he never rolls over. He never acknowledges that she's there at all. She falls asleep with a throat sore from crying and when she wakes up, Bellamy is gone. This time it feels like things are over._

_She gets up eventually, because it doesn't feel like there's anything else she can do, and when she opens the door, she sees a long, blank stretch of hallway. There are doors all down one side and the moment she steps out, she's filled with the sense that she's supposed to be somewhere, doing something, but she has no idea what that thing is. She begins to walk, wondering, in a vague sort of way, what will happen when she reaches the end. It takes her some indeterminable amount of time to come to the conclusion that there is no end, just more hallway, more doors, stretching out forever._

_She opens the first door after what feels like hours. She doesn't choose it for any particular reason. It looks just like any other door, but when it swings open, the room on the other side is cavernous and dark, with heavy wooden furniture and thick, overlapping carpets on the floor. She stares into the depths for a few moments, then moves on. She knows, somehow, this isn't the place she's looking for._

_She opens door after door. Most lead into rooms, each different from the last, but some lead into strange places, things she's only seen in her classes on the Ark, jungles, icy tundra, desserts of sand, but she never steps through to any of them. When her hand settles on a certain knob, the feels a sense of peace wash over her, and she opens the door slowly. The room beyond is small, wood floors, simple furniture, a single window that looks out at the woods. She steps inside._

_There are more sensations now that she's inside the room, instead of peering into it from the outside. There's the heat of the fire from the big hearth in one corner. She can smell meat and the spices Bellamy's people use for cooking and crisp cool air, and see the snow outside her window. She sits down on this bed, feeling suddenly at home. There are things here, she notices, her things, her little notebook of translations, her coat that had once belonged to Bellamy's mother, a knife from Nyko, her shoes in the corner._

_The door swings open and Clarke shuts her eyes against the light. When she opens them again, there's a familiar shape in the doorway, one that takes her breath away._

_“Dad?”_

_Jake Griffin looks exactly like he had the last time Clarke had seen him, eyes bright, but worried. Clarke doesn't remember standing up or crossing the distance, but then there she is, wrapped in her father's arms, crying into his chest. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, gathering her close and rubbing soothingly at her back._

_“I don't know what to do,” she whispers, finally, when the tears slow enough that she can manage words._

_“Yes you do, Sweetheart.” Her father's voice reverberates through her, settling in her chest, warm and gentle, but not giving an inch._

_“I messed everything up.” She wants both to look at her father and not to see disappointment on his face._

_“So you fix what you can and you let go of the rest, Clarke.” Her father puts his hands on her shoulders and puts enough distance between them that he can see her face. She hasn't gotten to look at him in months, but the expression on his face is so familiar that it feels like yesterday._

_“I don't know how,” she whispers, feeling ashamed for being weak. Her father has always been strong, always owned up to his mistakes and worked hard to correct them. She wants to be like him, but she feels lost._

_“Yes you do,” he echoes his earlier words._

_“But you're **gone,**_ _and the Ark is gone, and Bellamy... he's gone too.”_

_“Clarke,” Jake's voice is gentle but firm. “He's not gone, he's angry, and you're smart enough to know the difference. Anger isn't permanent. You knew the Ark's days were limited, you have to let that go. And me.” He tucks a curl behind her ear. “I'm here, aren't I?”_

_Clarke shakes her head. “This isn't real. I know this isn't real.” She's not sure exactly what it is, but real isn't the right word._

_“It's what you let it be, Clarke.” Her father presses a kiss onto her forehead and Clarke closes her eyes and clings to him, but when she opens them, he's gone. She sinks back onto the bed, tears on her cheeks, but once they dry, a cool ache has settled into her chest, no longer threatening to eat her whole and she feels, for the first time, that she might survive this._

She wakes up with her mother's face hovering above her and the first thing Clarke thinks is that she's never seen Abby look so relieved.

“Clarke?”

Her throat feels dry and constricted. “Mom?” She tries to sit up but her limbs are too heavy and her head starts spinning with the effort. Instead, she turns her head to the side to see the IV in her arm. She has a vague memory of leaning over a patient, feeling a rush to head, and then nothing.

“What happened?” She asks, her voice rough and weak, and her mother rushes to help her into a propped up position so she can drink some water.

“You've been ill, Clarke,” Abby says, rearranging her blankets, so they'll keep her in a more upright position.

She frowns. “I don't remember...”

“You were working too hard. Your body wasn't equipped to handle how ill you got. You've been unconscious for nearly ten days, Sweetie.”

Clarke tries to digest the information. Ten days. Gone. Immediately she starts to try to calculate what might have changed, who might have been lost during her absence, how relations may have broken down, or more optimistically, improved. Her head starts to hurt.

The room around her is familiar, she'd been working with patients in the quarantine before she'd become ill, but it's the same blank, sterile, unreal sort of room from her dream and she starts to wonder how she's supposed to know if this is real. The only thing that she can think is that she wants to see the sky.

“I need to get up,” she says, pushing into a full sitting position and fighting against the wave of dizziness that threatens to overwhelm her.

“Clarke, wait.” Abby's hand falls on her shoulder. “You need to take things slowly. You've been living off an IV for days, you've lost too much weight, you shouldn't push your body too far too fast.”

“I need to be outside,” Clarke repeats, starting to panic. She can't be in this room, that could be anywhere, not a single identifying feature.

“Please, Sweetie-”

“-I need to be outside!” She can fear tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Her voice comes out more as a croak than a yell, but her mother gets the message and helps her out of the bed, holding her weight as her legs adjust, still Abby grumbles under her breath the whole time.

Still, Clarke gets her way, stumbling a little, out the door and down a hallway, until she pushes the door open that lets her step outside. The air is frigid, but Clarke feels her muscles relax, as she steps out, vaguely noting that she hasn't bothered to put on shoes. She closes her eyes and turns her face up towards the sun, the panic that had risen in her chest abating. She can feel her mother hovering just behind her, ready to steady her if needed.

“Clarke?” The voice is surprised and breathless and one she knows but had no expectation of hearing. She blinks her eyes open and she's suddenly not so sure she's awake after all. Bellamy is standing a few feet away, eyes wide. Wells is at his shoulder, grinning. It feels real, the sharp cold of the air and her mother's worry and Wells smile, but she can't reconcile Bellamy standing before her. She stares at him, feeling her legs begin to shake, and then he steps forward, until he's standing only inches in front of her and she can see the freckles on his cheeks and she can smell the spicy, earthy smell she associates with him and he's real, isn't he? He's not the Bellamy that was in her dream, blank, unreachable. This Bellamy has worried, vulnerable eyes and hands that are shaking.

“You're here?” she whispers. She didn't mean it as a question, but it comes out like one, because... Well, the last time she saw him, he didn't seem very interested in being anywhere near her. He nods, swallowing hard, reaching a hand towards her and then faltering.

“Bell,” she breathes, and before she has a chance to begin to think about any more words, he's wrapping his arms around her, and even though she's unsteady, it doesn't matter because he is strong where she is weak. She closes her eyes, feeling something unknot in her chest and suddenly there are so many words bubbling up her throat, things he needs to know.

“I'm so sorry,” she starts, her voice catching in her throat. “I'm sorry, I-”

“-I know. It doesn't matter right now.” His voice rumbles in his chest, the first thing he's said since her name. “We'll talk about it later. I don't care about that right now.” Clarke doesn't know how to deal with the riot of emotion in her, so she just presses closer and tries not to cry.

“Clarke,” Her mother's voice is a little tentative, but determined and closer than she would have expected. “You really shouldn't be outside like this.” She pulls back a little bit from Bellamy to see her mother hovering, looking somewhere between disapproving and concerned. She opens her mouth to argue, but Bellamy settles a hand on her lower back and she lets herself be ushered inside, her mother leading, her and Bellamy in the middle, and Wells trailing.

They end up back in the room she'd been staying in before she got sick and she kind of hates it, because it reminds her of her dream, but she's starting to feel so shaky that she's not convinced she could stay upright without Bellamy's arm around her, and she decides to pick her battles. Bellamy helps her into bed, then sits down next to her, ignoring the look Abby is giving him. Wells takes the opportunity to lean over and give her and hug murmur how happy he is that she's better, before ducking out entirely. Her best friend has always been good at getting out of the way when Abby is gearing up for a lecture.

“Bellamy, would you mind giving us a moment?” she asks, and her voice is polite, but a little cold. He looks to Clarke, instead of Abby, clearly waiting for her opinion and Clarke wants nothing more than to tell him to stay, but this will happen eventually, and she'd rather get it over with, so she nods at him and tries not to let her throat close up as he slips out of the room because it's still scary to see him walking away; she only just got him back.

“I didn't realize you two were so close,” Abby says, as soon as the door swings closed behind him. “He never said anything about...” she trails off, not subtle. But Clarke is too tired to lie to her. The main reason she'd never mentioned her relationship with Bellamy because it was too raw and she'd thought it was over, so instead of avoiding the topic, like she's sure Abby expects, she just barrels right in.

“We were engaged, but I never told him about the Ark and he was so mad, I thought it was over between us. So now... I don't know.”

“ _Engaged?_ ” It's hard to fluster her mother, but Abby's face is growing red and she looks like Clarke just told her something a lot less pleasant. “You're only eighteen!”

“And yet I was old enough to get sent down to Earth alone, and left to fend for myself for months. Seriously, Mom, I'm too tired to argue with you right now. Besides, I doubt Bellamy still wants to marry me, anyway.”

Abby's face takes on a pinched look. “Please, that boy has been driving me half mad, pestering me for information about your condition. I don't know why I'm even surprised.”

“I'm going to go back to sleep now,” Clarke announces. She's not really sleepy, mostly just tired, but she really needs to not be having this conversation with her mother. “Can you send Bellamy back in?”

Abby frowns. “You need to be careful not to stress yourself. If your relationship with him is uncertain it could put unnecessary strain on you. I just think-”

“-Mom.” Her exhaustion must show in her tone because Abby shuts up and nods once, eyes still shining with concern, but she leaves anyway.

Bellamy comes back in quietly, like he's worried he's going to disturb her, but Clarke's only lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She turns her head to see him standing in the doorway and feels a rush of relief that he's here. He looks hesitant, so she reaches a hand out to him and he comes to the bed, slipping in next to her carefully. She rolls into him. She hasn't had this for too long, screw careful.

“Hi,” she says, her voice quiet, but still sounding too loud for the silence of the room.

“Hi,” he responds, sliding an arm around her waist. “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” she admits, and it's more than just a physical state, but she's not sure now is the time to go into all that.

“You need to get some real food in you. You're all skin and bones.” His fingers trace the place where her hipbone juts out, as if to prove his point and they fall quiet, just breathing in the silence.

“I didn't think you'd come back,” Clarke says, finally, because she needs to know what he's thinking, anything he's thinking.

“I wasn't sure if I was going to either, for a while.” His voice is a low rumble. “But once I stopped being so angry I mostly just missed you. And I should have listened,” he says lowly. “If nothing else, I should have listened to what you had to say.”

“I'm sorry,” she repeats, but it's never going to feel like enough for her.

“I know. And I want to talk about it. I think we need to talk about it, or I need you to, but I meant it, Clarke, I don't care about that right now. I don't think you understand, you almost _died_. I really, really thought you were going to die.” He takes a deep breath. “And maybe it shouldn't have taken thinking I was losing you forever to do it, but it put stuff into perspective for me. So here's what I know- I love you. And you hurt me, but I don't think you meant to and I'm pretty sure you love me too. Neither one of us got it all right, but we'll figure it out. And we don't have to do that right now. Right now, you need to get better, and that's what I care about. Don't worry about the rest.”

Clarke feels like crying, but it's the good sort of tears because this is Bellamy, not the one from her dreams, who pushes her away and doesn't care. She's not sure she deserves him, but she's always going to take as much as he can give her. She presses her nose into his chest.

“I love you,” she murmurs. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and Clarke feels herself relax, because things aren't ever going to be the same, but maybe they can be good again, one day.

“I love you too, Princess.”

She means to ask about his people, about Octavia and Lincoln and what's being done and if the passes are starting to melt and if there will be war, but her brain is feeling fuzzy and she falls asleep before she gets the chance.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm sorry this update took so long and is a bit short! I've had a pretty hectic few weeks (flew across the country twice in five days, went to 2 concerts, my sister's birthday, Christmas, New Year's, and I managed to catch a cold that won't go away, plus I'm job searching and in a terrifying application process at the moment) so basically it's been a combination of being really busy and also stressed enough that I've had a hard time writing lately. Anyway, I hope that this can get me back in the groove, though I haven't decided for sure what day of the week is going to be my update day yet. I'm thinking Tuesdays might be better than Fridays, but I'll keep you guys updated. Thank you all for reading and commenting and everything else! <3


	14. A New Way To Breathe

_"And in the sickness, you have faith._

_And in the thickness, you find me,_

_finally._

_And in the city, you find pain,_

_and the people you see there_

_remind you of your role._

_Let me go._ _  
And in the sickness, you have faith._

_And in the thickness, you find me._

_Finally, finally,_

_you don't have to beg._

_Finally."_

He has no good explanation for the fierce protectiveness that's taken over his every action in the week following Clarke regaining consciousness. It's not like he's trying to be this way, but it's actually a relief to have something to focus on other than his own worries and feelings and Clarke _needs_ help, even if she's loath to admit it. She's physically very weak. She gets dizzy if she has to stay upright for too long and she's still painfully thin. He knows he's hovering, but Bellamy can't help it.

Clarke waking up has revealed one thing, which is that Abby Griffin, upon learning that he's a bit more than a concerned friend of Clarke's, has developed an absolute loathing of him. He's not overly surprised. He's pretty sure Wells may have filled her in on some of the less pleasant details, like how he'd taken finding out Clarke had been in contact with the Ark and how that had effected her. He gets sharp looks from Abby pretty much every time she sees him, but never more so than when he walks back into camp, a rabbit or a pheasant, or whatever else he's managed to trap, thrown over his shoulder with no intention of sharing. The Sky People are completely useless at hunting; he knows they could use the extra food, but he doesn't have the time to help all of them and they aren't his people, Clarke is. Clarke doesn't say anything about the meat, even though he's sure she knows she's getting special treatment, and he finds that in and of itself worrying. Clarke isn't one to keep her mouth shut when she sees something she thinks is wrong. Even Abby, who is suffocatingly worried about Clarke, is mad at him over the food. Abby had pulled him aside the first day he'd brought back meat, her lips pressed thin.

“Bellamy, you can't do this.”

He'd known what she'd meant, but he'd only looked back at her blankly, forcing her to explain.

“We have to provide equally for everyone. We can't have people going out and hunting for only a select few, even if it is for my daughter.”

“I understand that,” Bellamy says slowly, looking Abby in the eyes. “But I'm not one of you.”

Abby's jaw tightens. “Even so, you're in our camp, and you need to abide by our rules.”

“Your job is to take care of your people in as fair and just a way that you can.” Bellamy inclines his head a little. “My job is to take care of my family. I'm not one of your people to boss around. I'm not going to stop doing what's best for Clarke just because you've told me to.”

They don't talk about it again, but Abby makes a point to shoot him even more upset glares, just to make sure it's absolutely clear she doesn't approve. But Clarke's cheeks have more color and she's still painfully thin, but he can no longer see every one of her ribs, so he counts it as a win. It's not that he doesn't wish Abby liked him, she's Clarke's _mother_ , of course he wishes Abby liked him, he just isn't willing to give in to what he considers unreasonable demands. Also, he's a little bitter that Abby seemed to like him fine before she found out he and Clarke were a couple. He thinks he's got a little bit of right to be offended.

He's so focused on just making sure that Clarke gets better, that it throws him off a bit when Abby pulls him aside about something else entirely. He's expecting a lecture and he's bracing for a fight. He'd managed to kill a deer on his hunting trip that morning and he assumes Abby's going to demand he share, which he was going to do anyway (Clarke can't eat a whole deer before it goes bad), but he doesn't want her to think it was _her_ idea. Instead, she bears sobering news.

“An envoy arrived today,” she tells him in a tired voice. The sky people have been in a series of meetings with people from his tribe and their various allies. No agreement has been reached, but a full scale war hasn't broken out either. Bellamy suspects this has more to do with a lack of available warriors on his people's end, but he doesn't voice this thought.

“They brought news that the passes are melting. They say that if we do not send our own warriors to fight alongside theirs, we will have no alliance and be forced to survive on our own. There are even indications that if they win their war with the mountain tribes, we will be next to face them. My people are not fighters.”

Bellamy tries to keep his face impassive, but the news is unsettling. “I don't know what you want me to say,” he tells Abby honestly. She's right, of course. Most of the people from the Ark have lived in relative ease, at least compared to the ground, and there are some people who have been trained, but not nearly enough.

“I don't have a position among my people any longer,” he reminds her. “I might have been able to help you once, but I'm not even welcome in my own village these days.”

“We can't fight,” Abby says lowly, “but we can't afford not to have help. Clarke survived the winter because you brought one of your healers. We need the knowledge that your people have. Surely you know something we can offer them.”

Bellamy frowns. He doesn't like the way that Abby is coming to him now, for help, when she's been all disapproval up to this point. It's not like he _wants_ the sky people to die. He knows Clarke will do everything in her power to help them, and he doesn't want her miserable. There's just nothing he can do and he doesn't like that Abby is asking for his advice _now_.

“They aren't trying to trick you,” he says firmly. “They need people to fight. That's what they're willing to trade. I can't help you.”

He walks away from her then, back towards the quarters he's been sharing with Clarke, because he doesn't know what else to do. Abby, in so many ways, reminds him of Clarke. She won't give up until it's hopeless, and maybe not even then. But unlike in Clarke, he doesn't find this trait endearing.

He hadn't intended to drop news this heavy on Clarke for a while. She's doing better, slowly but surely. Her appetite is growing and her clothes don't quite hang off her frame the way they had been. She's quieter than he's ever seen her, but he chalks that up to how much time she spends sleeping, regaining her strength. He knows she's sad. She's lost her father, and he knows it's weighing on her, even if she's not brought it up. So he had every intention of stewing over the war and Abby's dilemma all by himself, but he's only been in the same room with Clarke for five minutes before she asks.

“What's wrong?”

“What?” He hadn't been looking at her, fiddling with a broken lace on his boot and contemplating the best way to fix it.

“Your shoulders get all tight when you're worried about something.” Clarke is lying in bed, bundled in furs (another point of contention between him and Abby, him keeping Clarke warm while the rest of the camp shivers under Ark issued blankets).

“It's not our problem.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means your number one concern is getting better and mine is making sure you do.”

“Bellamy.” She sounds so tired, and there are still deep, dark circles under her eyes. She's not healthy yet and he absolutely does not want to burden her with this. But the look on her face is one that he knows better than to argue with.

“The passes are melting.”

Clarke closes her eyes. “And that means war.”

“Which isn't our concern,” Bellamy says sternly. It's not like he isn't stressed about this too. His people, everyone he's ever known, is going to be affected by this. He will inevitably lose more of his friends, even if those people aren't feeling so friendly towards him at the moment. But it doesn't make things better for Clarke to worry.

“Of course it is!” Clarke snaps. “Just because things have gotten more complicated doesn't change the fact that those are your _people_ , Bellamy. Those are the same men and women that you have fought side by side with, and led, and kept alive. That doesn't change just because they're angry with you.”

“It does when I've been banished,” Bellamy snaps back and Clarke flinches like he's hit her. He watches the emotion slide right off her face and he's already mentally cursing himself. She's been doing this ever since she woke up, retreating to some closed off space when she feels guilty about something. She rolls over so she isn't facing him anymore and half of him wants to comfort her, but the other half is still hurting enough over her lies that he can't quite bring himself to do it. Then he kind of hates himself for it.

“I just think,” she says quietly, “that if you let this all happen and don't try to do something, you'll end up regretting it.”

He wants to say something, anything, but he isn't sure what that would be, so instead, he grabs his bow and leaves. Hunting has served a dual purpose during Clarke's recovery, keeping her well fed, but also giving himself time to think, sort himself out.

He'd meant everything he said to Clarke, that he loves her and he doesn't think it was her intention to hurt anybody. He'd meant that the only thing she should worry about is getting better, but it's easier to intellectually know these things than it is to make himself feel them. He's not angry anymore. His anger had burned out somewhere around the time he'd stood outside the window to quarantine and it had hit him that Clarke might die. It hasn't reignited and he doesn't think it will. The hurt is harder to banish. It had been easy for a while, when Clarke was asleep and it hurt way more to think of losing her than it did to think about what she'd done. Now, the pain she's caused him hovers near the surface, quiet and unaddressed. He can't even decide if he wants to talk to her about it or not. He thinks he needs to, but it's easy to put that aside, to tell himself she's still too weak to demand anything from. It's easier to pretend things are okay than to face it.

So he hunts. The quiet of the woods, the weight of a bow in his hands, the patience of waiting and creeping and moving slowly. There's something calming about it to him and after a day away, his head always feels clearer. Things haven't been easy lately, but he feels bad for not keeping his head. Of course some part of him wants to go back to his village, to see if he can do anything to help his people, and of course Clarke had picked up on that. He knows Clarke feels like it's her fault he can't go home, and in a very technical sense he supposes that's true. But Bellamy's had more than one indication that his people might be willing to take him back, but only if he leaves Clarke behind. So it's his choice and he he's already chosen. He doesn't want to argue about it.

Clarke's asleep when he gets back, which isn't unusual. She sleeps a lot these days and it does seem to be doing her good, but it still scares him a little, reminds him of watching her sleep and not knowing if she's going to wake up. He's quiet as he slips around the room, putting away his things. Clarke is usually asleep when he comes home and that's made it easy to avoid talking about things. They sleep in the same bed, but Bellamy is careful not to touch her when he crawls into bed. She seems like a fragile thing these days, like the lightest brush of his fingers could bruise her. Sometimes he wakes up wrapped around her, but he always gets up before she wakes, so he isn't sure she's aware of this.

He rises early, like always, determined to get his day started by the time the sun is up. He doesn't expect to see Lexa in camp, eyes blank, walking shoulder to shoulder with Abby Griffin. He hasn't seen her since Clarke saved her life, months ago now. Normally, she'd have been in war with him, as an ally, but her War Chief duties for her clan had been temporarily passed to another as she'd been recovering from being breaths away from death. It's clear she's resumed her position.

Lexa may look impassive, but Abby's face is readable, frustration. He would expect nothing less. He's known Lexa for many years; she won't expect anything less than warriors for an alliance, just like his tribe. Still, he can't blame Abby for trying. He almost feels sorry for her. She is trying to look out for her people. He keeps his head down and walks away from them. He has no interest in being involved in their politics.

If he had his way, Lexa would never even know he was there, but that's not life. So he's only made it three hours into his day until he nearly runs directly into her. He and Lexa grew up with their paths crossing occasionally, but he's never considered her a friend, a colleague, maybe, but little more than that. He remembers her as a girl with cold eyes and a tough outer shell. He finds her much the same.

“Bellamy,” she greets him, giving no emotion away, certainly not surprise.

“Lexa.”

“I've heard rumors about you,” she states baldly. Well, at least she's to the point. He can live with being confronted. He hates the gossip.

“Good for you,” he says gruffly, attempting to side step her and continue on his way, but she only falls in step beside him.

“Funny, I took you for the loyal type,” Lexa continues, “but you're here, leaving your people to fend for themselves.”

Bellamy doesn't answer. He doesn't know what Lexa wants, but he doesn't feel inclined to give it to her. She's too stoic for him to tell how she could be dangerous.

“I heard you followed the sky girl. I suppose that's a different kind of loyalty.”

“Her name is Clarke and she saved your life,” Bellamy snaps. He's never been the best at keeping his temper under control. He's several strides away before he realizes Lexa has stopped walking with him. He glances over his shoulder to see her standing where he'd snapped at her, looking calm and composed as always, but there's a slight glint to her eyes that he doesn't understand. He turns away and keeps walking, hoping he never finds out.

It's that night that things shift. It seems the same as always, but he's only been lying in bed for ten minutes when Clarke rolls onto her back and says, “I always meant to tell you.”

Bellamy feels himself freeze. He's so still he's practically not breathing. He had thought she was asleep, so he hadn't even had time to brace himself. He doesn't know what to say to that. He isn't even sure if her words have sunk in at all. He was always planning to talk about it, sometime, but it's easy in the abstract. It's harder when it's facing him.

“There isn't an excuse for it,” she continues quietly. “The Ark was dying. And I'd just turned 18 and my mom said they knew there were people on the ground and they needed to send someone down to asses them, someone who was young enough to seem innocent, but who had a useful skill. So that's how I got chosen. I guess being the child of a Council member didn't hurt either. They never even asked me if I agreed to it. I just didn't fight them. I figured someone had to do it and it was the _ground_.” Clarke falls quiet for a moment and Bellamy wonders if that's all she's going to say, if they're just going to lie there in silence and not talk about it in the morning. But then Clarke starts talking again.

“I don't know what I was expecting. It was so much to take in at first. And then before I knew it, everyone wanted me dead and I owed you my life and I didn't see how I could tell you that I was spying. You didn't really know me. You didn't even like me. So at that point it was just about surviving long enough that I could be reunited with my people.

“The Council wanted to drop bombs on the villages, try to clear enough people out that it would be safer for us. I _did_ argue with them about that. I don't know if what I said did any good, but they didn't ever drop the bombs, so at least I don't have that on my conscious as well. I never knew how much of an impact I was having. I was only ever able to speak to my mother. And then there was an uprising on the Ark and I lost contact with my mom. It just... stopped feeling real, I guess. It was so much easier to believe that my life with you and your people could just be that. I did still think about it, about if I should say something, but I just kept telling myself that I didn't know what I'd say. 'Oh, hey, by the way, eventually thousands of people are going to be joining me. No, I don't know when or where, but it's gonna happen. Oh, also, they might bomb you first,' was about all I could come up with and it just never seemed like enough.

“I got back into contact with my mother briefly, but she made me so angry that I smashed the device connecting me to her and I just... I planned all these different times and ways to tell you and then it was too late. I'm sorry.”

It's very quiet when Clarke stops talking, and Bellamy has the urge to fill it with something, but he doesn't. Instead, he lies there and soaks in her words. There had been something soothing about listening to the cadence of her voice. He must be quiet for too long, because her next words are even softer than before.

“That's all. I don't know what else to say.”

“You don't have to say anything, I'm just thinking,” he responds. Except, he's not. He can't seem to think of anything other than the sad, hopeless way she'd said, 'I'm sorry.'

“Okay,” she whispers, and Bellamy turns onto his side so he can look at her profile. He can just make out the slope of her nose and the line of her jaw in the low light. Now that it's here, talking about it doesn't seem to matter to him. Sure, he hadn't known the details, the exact timeline, but the main thing he'd gotten from her tale was the lost way she'd told it. It boils down to something he'd already known, she's sorry for lying. It doesn't magically make all the effects and pain disappear, but he's pretty sure time is the only thing that would. He's tired of wasting it worrying.

“Okay,” he says, after a moment. “Okay, that's it then.”

“What?” Clarke asks.

“It happened, it's over, I just want to move on from it. You should stop feeling guilty and I'm going to stop dwelling on it.”

“It's not that easy, Bell.”

“Why not? I'm not mad anymore. Sometimes it still hurts, but then you talk about it and you sound so... melancholy and that hurts more.”

“I don't know how to forgive myself,” Clarke says, and even though all he can see is her profile, there's something desperate about it. He doesn't know what to say to that; he's never been particularly good at the whole self forgiveness thing. He feels like he needs to say something. He should have known Clarke would be harder on herself than he could ever be, it's so intrinsically her.

“Give it time,” he manages, though it seems like too little, “but don't dwell on it.”

Clarke is quiet for so long that he thinks she may have fallen asleep. He's just thinking about how he wishes he'd said something better, something more comforting, when she lets out a little sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” she breathes and she sounds so unsure. It breaks Bellamy's heart a little that she doesn't think she can ask him anything at any time and he wonders if that's what got them into this mess in the first place.

“Of course you can, Princess.” He hopes his voice is steady.

“I told my mom we were engaged.” It feels like something lodges in his throat with her choice of words, past tense, but he keeps his jaw firmly shut, waiting for the question.

“I wasn't sure you wanted to be anymore,” she finishes, and it still isn't a question, but he's pretty sure that's all she's going to say and if he doesn't speak now, she'll just lie there quietly until they both fall asleep and she'll never, ever bring it up again.

“Of course I- fuck,” it's hard to talk with his throat constricted like this. “We're only not engaged if that's what you want.” He can't quite seem to form proper sentences. “I thought- I mean, when I came back...” He closes his eyes and tries to just breathe steady. “Why did you think that?” he asks, when his throat eases a little.

“You never touch me anymore.”

“What?” That's not true, is it? He tries to think back, but his days have been all about hunting and arguing with Abby and worrying about Clarke getting better.

“You don't. Not since the day I woke up unless you have to, like I'm about to trip or something. It just seemed like maybe you... It was like you were trying not to send the wrong message.”

“It wasn't intentional,” he says slowly. “You just seem... fragile, I guess.” He's not quite sure how this happened. Has she been worrying about this for days?

“I'm not,” she says, and her voice is fierce and dark. “You won't break me.”

He just reacts on instinct, doesn't give himself time to think about it, he hooks his arm over her waist and rolls himself so he's nearly on top of her, his nose pressed into the underside of her jaw. Clarke lets out a little sigh and he can practically feel all the tension leaving her. Her arms wrap around him, fingers sliding into his hair. He can't believe he didn't realize he was missing this, because it just feels right.

“I still want to marry you,” he murmurs into her skin. “I'm sorry it wasn't obvious.”

Clarke kisses the top of his head. “I really want to marry you too.”

He remembers, suddenly, the ring that's still in his coat pocket, and he starts to sit up, to go fetch it for her, but she protests, clinging tighter.

“I made you a ring. I just want to get it.”

“Tomorrow,” Clarke whispers. “Just stay right here tonight,” and it's not like he can deny her anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, sorry this took so long. I've been struggling to feel creative recently, I think because I'm always at my most creative when I have a schedule and things to do and I'm in between school and a job right now, so I'm a little stagnant. I do have the outline for the rest of this fic and we're looking at probably 3, maybe 4, more chapters. 
> 
> On another note, just so everyone knows, I'm not watching season 3 of The 100. I plan to watch it eventually, but I'm not watching while it comes out because I'm pretty emotionally drained right now and, as dumb as it might sound, I can't really handle the hope/disappointment/stress of shipping a non-canon (though I do have hope for it eventually) couple with a show that I wait for week after week right now. That being said, I'm not going to try to avoid spoilers or anything, you can say anything you like about what's going on in Season 3 to me and I'll keep my ears open enough so that I'll know if anything happens in the Bellarke camp, I'm just not going to be following it super closely. This fic was planned long before season 3 starting and it won't change at all with anything from this season. Also, I have my next fic idea in the works and it's a modern AU that will only VERY loosely follow the show, so it shouldn't really make a difference with season 3 anyway.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the feedback and support, it really does help! And even if it takes me a long time to respond to the comments, they all mean a lot to me!


	15. Before You Go

_"So I hit my low,_

_but little did I know that would not be the end,_

_from the holland road, well I rose_

_and I rose,_

_and I paid less time_

_to your callous mind_

_and I wished you well as you cut me down_

_but I still believe"_

She's not so much surprised as she is exasperated that it takes her mother less than three hours to notice the engagement ring on Clarke's finger. It's cherry wood, smooth, and has the native language “soul mates” carved inside the band. It's simple and beautiful and Clarke might have cried a little when Bellamy first gave it to her, the tips of his ears red, but looking pleased with himself. She'd spent the past week trying to resign herself to the fact that it seemed like even though Bellamy may still love her, he might not want to _be_ with her anymore, so to have a physical token of his feelings had been overwhelming (in a good way) and she's trying not to think too hard about it because she's only just been allowed to come back and help with minor injuries for a few hours a day and she doesn't need to start crying in the middle of it.

But of course, Abby walks in half an hour into Clarke's shift and her eyes zero in on the ring like its got a sign attached to it. She doesn't say anything about it, but Abby's lips flatten into a thin line and Clarke can feel her mother's gaze every few minutes. It's more than a little distracting. It takes Clarke forty five minutes to break.

“Do you need an explanation?” she asks, as she's consolidating some jars of moonshine they've been using as disinfectant.

Abby goes very still. “I think it's pretty clear,” she says finally, stiffly.

“What's clear is that you have an opinion about it,” Clarke snaps, setting down the jar she's starting to grip too tight. “So you might as well say it, because I'm not going to walk around pretending like you aren't huffing under your breath and giving me odd looks.”

“You're eighteen, Clarke.”

“Oh, please tell me we're not having _this_ argument again. We've been over this. Besides, I don't believe for one second that my age is what this is about.”

Abby takes a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “If I thought you really wanted my opinion, I would have brought it up myself.”

“What I _want_ is for us to have this fight, whatever it's going to be, and then maybe we can move past it.”

“He's got a home and a family and a people that are not _yours_ , Clarke. And if I can't get these negotiations worked out, we might be fighting his people next. Have you thought about that?”

“I'm not an idiot.”

“So, what are you two going to do? I can't imagine Bellamy is willing to fight against his own people. Will he fight for them? Are you going to stand by and watch him wage war on your friends and family?”

“Bellamy _is_ my family, Mom. Neither one of us wants this war. We'll do what we have to do.”

“That sounds like the answer of someone who doesn't know what she's doing.”

“Yeah, Mom. I don't have it all figured out. I don't know what decisions we will have to make, but Bellamy and I are doing it _together_. You think this changes things?” She gestures at the ring on her finger. “Because you're wrong. It doesn't matter whether we're engaged or married or not. Our label doesn't change how we feel about each other.”

Abby sighs. “You've made all this very hard on yourself, Clarke. I just never wanted you to be faced with these sorts of decisions.”

“It's done. I'm not a little kid that you can protect from the world anymore, Mom. I know you want to, but things have changed.”

They fall into an uneasy silence and Clarke has a feeling the issue isn't really resolves, but Abby isn't an easy woman to please. Clarke, at least, feels better about.

It does make her question some things, though. Her mother is right, that she couldn't just stand by and watch her people (or Bellamy's) die and she knows he must be feeling similar stress. If an alliance could be made, they would both be better off.

“I've been thinking,” she tells him tentatively that night, his body curled around hers. It's not like she'd _planned_ it, exactly, but she figures the fact that he's naked, satisfied, and relaxed, will help her case.

“That tone suggests I won't like this,” he says, sounding tired. She kisses his chest.

“I think we should go back and try to talk to your people.” His whole body tightens up.

“Absolutely not.” There's a finality in his voice, but she's not giving up.

“I think I should go back there.”

“Clarke, they blame you for all this. They'd want to kill you.”

“I know.” She closes her eyes and tries to stay calm. It hurts, knowing a place that felt like home doesn't want her. “I want to try to apologize. I want them to know I'm on their side. They won't say it, but you have to know that half the reason they are being so hard in negotiations with us is because of me.”

“It's not safe.”

“None of this is safe!” Clarke argues.

Bellamy sighs. “There's a big difference between dealing with the situations as they come and walking into a place where people want to kill you.”

“I have to do this,” Clarke says firmly. “I'm going to do this. I'm not asking for permission.”

Bellamy is quiet for a few moments. She knows he isn't happy and she isn't doing this because she wants to upset him. She's doing it because she thinks she owes it to them, the people who (albeit grudgingly) took her in, to apologize to their faces, to let them know that this is never what she wanted.

“I go in first,” he says firmly. “I'll get Lincoln and Nyko so we'll have someone on our side.” She doesn't ask why he leaves out Octavia.The only thing he's said about his sister since Clarke woke up is that she won't speak to him. She knows it's killing him, being estranged from his sister. If she won't speak to Bellamy... As much as it hurts, she knows Octavia must be furious with her. She closes her eyes and presses herself a little closer to him.

“Tomorrow?” she asks.

He sighs hugely. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

Bellamy gets more and more quiet the closer they get to his village. Clarke knows he isn't thrilled about this whole thing; to be honest, she isn't thrilled either. He doesn't think it's worth the risk, clearly, and she gets that, because if it were Bellamy that they all wanted to kill, she probably wouldn't think it was worth it either.

“Do you want to get married like your people, or mine?” he asks, abruptly, when they're only a couple of miles out.

Clarke takes a moment to adjust to the sudden question. “What's the difference?”

Bellamy steps over a log and holds out a hand to help Clarke. “If we get married like your people, we'll have the ceremony and your people will see us as married.”

“And if we get married like your people?”

“Then we have the ceremony, we get tattooed, and it's permanent. No divorce. Infidelity is punishable by death in the tribes.”

“What if one of us died?” Clarke asks.

“You could take a lover, if I died, but you could never marry them. It would be seen as a betrayal to my memory.”

“Can we do both?”

Bellamy glances over at her. “What?”

“Can we get married like both our people?”

His brow furrows a little. “Sure, but why would we?”

Clarke grins. “You know, so everyone's clear that we're very married.” Bellamy lets out a sharp, surprised laugh, and Clarke can't help the grin that spreads across her face. She's more than a little proud that she can make Bellamy (who's done nothing but scowl all day) laugh out loud. He's not that big on laughing. He's more the silent, brooding, soft at heart, type.

Even with Bellamy, Nyko, and Lincoln on her side, it turns out to be a mess. It's not like Clarke really assumed it would go smoothly, but actually seeing the looks on the faces of the people all around, people she knows, and how much they hate her... She isn't prepared for that.

Bellamy is a solid presence, his hand in hers, chin up and his war eyes on. It only makes her feel a little better. Bellamy can't take on everyone at once, even if he'd try. Nyko looks uncomfortable, but he rests a hand on Clarke's shoulder and gives her a nod and she trusts him. Lincoln is quiet and unapologetic, standing to Clarke's left, bold as brass.

It's Indra who finally steps forward, face hard. “You should not have come here,” is what she says.

“I had to,” Clarke answers, trying to keep her voice steady as she catches Octavia's face in the crowd, cold and unforgiving.

“You have committed crimes against our people, Clarke from the Sky.”

“I know,” Clarke says. Bellamy steps a little in front of her, angled at Indra, who hasn't looked at him this whole time.

“Where's Penn?” he asks. “If he's your War Chief, then this is his business to deal with.” His voice doesn't waver over the words _war chief_ , but his fingers tighten around Clarke's and she has to swallow down the shame she feels for being the reason he lost everything. He'd never wanted it, she knows, but he'd been proud, all the same.

“He's not here. Which means we'll be holding both of you until he returns,” Indra responds.

Bellamy's chin tilts up. “That's not going to happen.” His voice is the authoritative one, the one that he'd used to effectively as War Chief and Clarke can see the warriors that are gathered around shifting uncomfortably, looking nervous. They don't want to end up in a fight with Bellamy. Clarke sincerely hopes it doesn't come down to that.

“You don't have any power here,” Indra starts, and it might not show on his face, but Clarke feels Indra's words like individual impacts to Bellamy's chest. Indra may never have liked her, but Bellamy had always spoken of her with a fond, admiration.

“I don't think Penn's presence will be necessary,” someone interrupts. It takes Clarke a moment to place the girl who pushes into the front of the circle to stand by Indra. The last time she'd seen Lexa, she'd been dirty and bleeding out on the table in Nyko's hut.

“I owe my life to the Sky girl, if you harm her, it will be an insult to my tribe and our alliance. Penn knows this. Spare her, and my debt is paid.”

It gets very quiet. Clarke glances at Bellamy and the expression he has directed at Lexa she can only interpret as grudging appreciation. She looks back to Indra and can see the conflict there, mouth in a thin line. Everyone is watching her, waiting. Indra nods, once, tight and clearly frustrated and the village bursts into sound, harsh whispers, cries of anger, more than she can identify. She doesn't have long to dwell on it, Bellamy is tugging her out of the circle of people, Nyko and Lincoln acting as a barrier as they push through. He's heading towards the edge of the village at a brisk walk, leaving the clamor of the villagers behind.

“We should go now,” Bellamy says, and Clarke stops, digging her heels in. She knows why he wants to leave; he's right, in a lot of ways. But she can't go yet.

“Clarke.” Bellamy's voice is low and urgent. “You did what you came here to do. You got pardoned. There's nothing else we can do.”

She shakes her head. “I need to see Octavia.”

“ _Clarke._ ” She ignores the tone of his voice and looks away. She doesn't want to upset him, but they've come all this way.

“Lincoln?”

He seems conflicted, looking between Clarke and Bellamy, then inclines his head. “Okay.”

Bellamy makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and Clarke shoots Lincoln an apologetic smile. She turns back to Bellamy. His jaw is tight and his arms crossed.

“I'll meet you outside the village, okay?”

“What? No. If you're going to talk to her, I'm coming with you.” She wishes she didn't have to argue this point. She wishes she didn't have to do any of it.

“I need to talk to her on my own.”

“Fuck, _Clarke_.”

“It's okay. Lincoln will make sure she doesn't kill me.” She gives Bellamy and weak smile and grabs Lincoln's arm, tugging him back towards his own hut.

“That's not funny!” Bellamy calls after them.

She's not really looking forward to the conversation she's about to have, but she knows she has to do it, for Bellamy. Lincoln stops outside the door, giving her privacy, but close enough that he can step in if needed. She really hopes he isn't needed.

Octavia isn't facing her when she steps inside, instead she's leaning over a cradle. She doesn't turn around at the sound of the door, either.

“If you think I'm even so much as _speaking_ to you tonight after the shit you just pulled with Clarke, you are sorely mistaken, Lincoln.” Octavia's voice is icy.

“Not Lincoln,” is the only thing Clarke can think to say. Octavia turns around so fast and sharp, Clarke takes a step back, her heels hitting the door.

“I _certainly_ have nothing to say to you. Get out.”

“I can't do that.”

“Get out _now_ , or I'll make you.” Octavia means it. Clarke doesn't doubt that for a second.

“You don't have to say anything, but I have something I need to say to you.”

Octavia crosses her arms, but doesn't immediately stride forward and shove Clarke outside, so she takes that as a good sign. It's probably the best she's going to get.

“I'm sorry.” Clarke keeps her chin up while she says it. “I know I made mistakes and I know just apologizing for them isn't enough. I know you hate me because you love Bellamy. I really hope you'll change your mind one day, but I'm not expecting it. I'm here because Bellamy says you won't talk to him either. I know you're mad at him too, for forgiving me, for trusting me, for doing something you think is going to get him hurt. I _get_ it. But you're hurting him right now, shutting him out. He doesn't deserve it just because you hate me. He loves you so much, and I don't have to tell you that. Even if you hate me for the rest of my life, I would never try to make him choose between us. Please don't you make him choose either.”

Clarke waits a few moments, standing in silence, to see if she's going to get a reaction, but Octavia is closed off. She knows that look because Bellamy has it too, all Blake pride. If she's gotten through to Octavia, she won't know any time soon. At least she tried.

Lincoln's still standing just by the door when she comes out. He looks relieved enough that Clarke is retroactively concerned about her own decision to confront Octavia alone. Apparently Lincoln hadn't expected her to get through it without some bloodshed.

Bellamy is pacing and muttering under his breath when she and Lincoln approach him just outside the village. He looks her over fiercely, eyes narrowed.

“Did she hurt you?”

“No. She didn't even touch me. I'm fine, really.” Clarke lays a hand on his arm to stop the nervous wringing of his hands. He's hated every moment of this trip, that much is clear, but Clarke feels lighter than she has since the Ark came down. He breathes out slowly, and pulls her in, enveloping her in a hug and Lincoln nods to both of them and melts away into the trees.

“If you could stop putting yourself in situations that make me want to rip my own hair out that would be great, thanks,” Bellamy mumbles against where his mouth is pressed to her temple, muffled by her hair.

“Too late. It's a habit,” she teases, poking him in the side.

“Why are all the women in my life so difficult?” Bellamy grumbles and Clarke only smirks in response.

He doesn't tell her until their halfway back that he'd talked to Lexa while Clarke had talked to Octavia. She notices he never looks particularly thrilled when Lexa comes up, but she doesn't know why or what might have been said between them in the past and he doesn't seem inclined to share.

“She wants the alliance with the Sky people to go through,” he tells her, kicking a rock in the path into the underbrush.

“Why?”

“Because she's a War Chief and she's looking for any tactical advantage she can get. You have a lot of advanced technology that we don't. Your people might not be warriors, but they are other things. She's smart enough to see that. She says she'll help.”

“Do you trust her?”

Bellamy drags a hand through his hair. “Not at all. But I believe her.”

“So, what do you think?”

“I think I don't have to trust her or like her to work with her. We have things she wants, she has things we want. Simple as that.”

Clarke nods. “Okay. I'll talk to my mom about it when we get back.”

Bellamy grins and slides his fingers between hers. “There's something else I think you should talk to your mom about.”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna marry me?”

Clarke holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers at him. “Obviously.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but the smile hasn't left his lips. “I talked to Lincoln and he's agreed to come do the tattoos. I think it's time to plan a wedding.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> sorry it's been so long. I've been having a really hard time with a lot of different things lately, some personal disappointments, continued frustration with this season of this show that's been sapping my inspiration, health issues, etc. I'll just say February has not been great to me and I'm really hoping March will be better. I also hope this story quality hasn't been too dented by my personal issues, but sorry if it has  
> There are two more chapters left in this story, so if I can do better about my timing, this probably won't take that much longer. Thank you guys for all your continued support!  
> P.S. if you want to come hang out with me on [my tumblr](http://while-the-world-collides.tumblr.com/), that's cool. I mostly cry about Bellamy, Bellarke, and Bob and occasionally Stydia and Dylan O'Brien's face.


	16. I Hope You Know

_"Afraid you didn't know I would be_  
_At the end of it,_  
_And I won't let you go_  
_At the end of it,_  
_So just don't let go."_

They have the ceremony on a clear day, early in the morning, while the light is soft and magical and it doesn't quite feel real. It's small, intimate, Bellamy supposes, but that has to do more with the fact that they don't actually have many friends or family to begin with. He tries not to think about how much he wishes Octavia was there, because he wants to only think of good things. Abby comes, and even tears up a little, though Bellamy's not totally convinced that those were happy tears. He doesn't much care, it turns out, because he gets to marry Clarke.

Wells cries actual tears during the ceremony and doesn't seem the least bit embarrassed by it, or so Clarke will later tell him. He hadn't really noticed, not with Clarke standing across from him, a smile on her lips and sprigs of snowdrops in her hair, the first flowers to poke up through the fading snow.

For him, there's only Lincoln, who draws them aside after the short, rather succinct ceremony conducted by Marcus Kane, asking where they want to go for the tattoos. Clarke decides on medical, because their quarters are so small, and, to be honest, it's all just kind of a blur to Bellamy.

He's _married_ , technically, even if it's only by Sky People standards until they have the tattoos. Clarke goes first, because she's more nervous, all the while fiercely denying it. Lincoln is almost as excited as they are. Marriage tattoos are determined by the clans of those joined, so while Clarke's will be familiar to him, a band around her wrist with the sharp lines of Wolf Clan and the word for wolf in the native language directly over her heart, Bellamy's he will get to design. They have no standard for what Clarke is, a girl from the sky, and it's clear Lincoln is thrilled to get to create it.

Tattoos for his people always mean something, whether they signify marriage, memorialize a loved one, or are meant to give strength. Bellamy had been angry enough at his parents, his father for dying, and his mother for the last years of her life, never to get any for them. Many of his fellow warriors, including Octavia, had gotten tattoos for protection in battle. Bellamy's never really admitted that he hadn't partially due to a streak of recklessness.

He's proud to get his marriage tattoos, though. Lincoln creates a band of night sky, complete with a smattering of stars that circles his wrist, even a crescent moon showing, before moving on to add the native word for “sky” over his heart. Clarke watches, fascinated, eyes wide and the irritation of her own tattoos forgotten. Clarke's band is on her left wrist and Bellamy's is on his right, so that when their hands are joined, the tattoos rest against each other.

Lincoln takes longer on Bellamy's tattoos than Clarke's, pausing to make decisions, and watching them form is a bit of a surreal experience. When he finishes, Lincoln glances between the two of them and pronounces them officially joined. Clarke blinks at him, a little dazed, but the corners of her lips turn up and he feels his own answering smile, a mirror of hers.

It's not like Bellamy thought everything would be the same, but he's unprepared for how sex with Clarke would expand, become something close to spiritual. He doesn't understand it, because he's loved her this whole time, and it's not like he suddenly loves her _more_ , it's just noticeably different. There's this strange peace in knowing that, no matter what comes, for the rest of their lives they will have someone who is on their side, who will put each other first. Clarke is his family, now, his first priority, and there is a calm in knowing that he is hers, as well. Octavia has always taken the front seat in his life, but she'd already moved on to Lincoln and their child and he will always love her, but it feels good to start a new chapter of his life, as well.

Clarke lies against his chest and night and traces the word inked over his heart. She has a clear fascination with the tattoos, likes to match them up or trace her fingers over them. He supposes it's all rather new to her, not having them on the Ark. He just likes being married.

“There was news today,” Clarke says, quiet. Bellamy is mostly out of the loop here. The Arkers don't trust him much, with the exception of Wells and the occasional grudging admission from Abby. He spends most of his days with the warriors, which they call the guard, trying to help them understand what will keep them alive out here. He thinks he's starting to gain the respect, if not the trust, of a few of them, particularly a young guard named Miller. Meanwhile, Clarke's taken up something of an unofficial leadership position. She knows enough of the customs of his people to be diplomatic, and the other tribes don't associate her with betrayal, like his does.

“Good or bad?” he asks. It takes Clarke several moment to answer, enough time that his heart rate picks up. A piece of him will always be a wolf, it's where his training and skills lie, but he married Clarke, so by his people's own laws, he is a sky person now. Bad news for the Arkers is bad news for him.

“The treaty is looking likely,” Clarke says slowly.

“But?”

“They want me to travel for the official peace talks and decisions. Lexa told them about me, but they want me to speak for myself.”

Bellamy isn't surprised. Lexa had hinted as much, but he'd hoped it wouldn't come to that. Treaty talks can devolve and become dangerous quickly.

“So, we're going?”

Clarke's fingers cease tracing his tattoo. “Not you.”

“Clarke.”

“They need you here, Bell. I know you don't feel like you're making that much of an impact, but you _are_. If this treaty goes through, we'll have to send some of the guard to aid in the war when the passes melts and that's only a matter of a couple of weeks. They have no idea what a war is like, what they're walking into. You're the only one here who knows that. They need you.”

“You're my _wife_ , Clarke. You aren't walking into a snakepit like that without me.” There's panic in his chest at even the thought. Sometimes it feels like Clarke thinks she's invincible. Maybe she has reason to; she hurtled to the ground in a metal pod. He's all too aware of mortality. Someone has to be.

“We need this treaty, Bell. And my people need you.”

He's halfway to forming his next argument when Clarke starts speaking again.

“It's not like this is exactly what I want either. If I could just stay here and know everything was going to be okay, I'd do it. But that's not how it is. I can make a difference here...” She's quiet for only a moment. “It's what my dad would have done.”

Clarke hasn't said much about her father at all. Bellamy knows he died when the Ark came down, that much Abby had told him when Clarke was still asleep, her life in the balance. He hasn't wanted to pressure Clarke into talking about him, Bellamy knows people all deal with loss in different ways. He knows very little about Clarke's father.

“He was one of the best people I knew,” Clarke whispers. “And he would always put our people before himself. He would go, if it were his choice, and I need to go too.”

“I'm not asking you not to go,” he says, but there's a sinking feeling in his chest that he's already lost this argument.

“I want you to come,” Clarke sighs, “but you know that it's better for the people to have you here. There is so much they need to learn and you're the only qualified to teach them. If the treaty goes through, we'll get others to come here to teach, just as we will be sending people to the tribes, but in the meantime...”

“It's just me,” Bellamy finishes her thought. He knows Clarke has made up her mind and he knows he doesn't _have_ to do what she says. She's made her decisions and he gets to make his own, but he's also aware that she won't be happy with him if he insists on coming. For a moment, he considers the idea that he doesn't much care if she's mad at him, as long as she's safe, but he'd learned a long time ago with Octavia that this isn't a feeling to act on.

“You have to promise me something,” he says, voice steady, but the fear of letting Clarke go thick in his throat.

“What?” Clarke asks.

“You have to promise me that once we have this treaty, once there is an understanding between our people, you'll stop putting this all on you. I know you feel guilty about everything that happened and I know you feel like you have to make amends. I get it, okay? But once you do this, you've put yourself in more than enough danger for everyone. I'm not saying you aren't allowed to still feel guilty and need to work through it, but no more of this putting the responsibility for everything between our people all on your shoulders, okay? You don't owe anybody anything.”

“Bell,” Clarke says slowly, clearly reluctant.

“That's the deal, Princess.” She's quiet, head on his chest, fingers splayed out over his abdomen. She'll agree, he knows, because she feels like this is what's best for now, she might even be right about it, but he's sure as hell going to make sure that she doesn't keep blaming herself for everything. He'll do what he has to do.

“Okay,” she whispers, but he knows it won't be that easy.

They don't talk about it again in the next few days, that she's going, that he's staying, that they've both made promises about what this will mean. He tries not to think about it too much. Instead, he focuses on the fact that he's _married_ , that he has this whole new life and future with Clarke that he's so ready to live, if they can only get to it.

He meets Raven Reyes at Wells' suggestion. It had started as a conversation about mundane things while he's teaching Wells to skin rabbits, but had turned to discussing Ark custom. Wells had mentioned something about “wedding gifts” which had left Bellamy wondering if he'd been supposed to get Clarke something.

“It's not the people getting married,” Wells explains, waving his knife around while he talks until it comes a little to close to Bellamy's face and he puts it down, looking sheepish. “It's like, their friends and family get _them_ things that make starting a new life together easier.”

“Ah.” Bellamy ponders it for a moment. He doesn't really have any friends or family (aside from Lincoln) who are currently speaking to him, so he supposes the tradition wouldn't have worked out so well for him anyway.

“So what did you get Clarke?” he asks Wells, genuinely curious. He hadn't noticed anything new, but it could have been something small or private.

Wells grins. “It's not done yet. Wanna see it?”

They end up in a part of camp Bellamy hasn't had much reason to visit. It's all full of what mostly looks like junk, spare parts, scrap metal. There are a few tents, though, and Wells ducks into one of them, Bellamy following. It's a mess inside, and Bellamy's honestly impressed that so much stuff could fit into such a small space, pieces and parts and more scrap metal. A girl ducks out from behind one of the larger pieces.

Bellamy likes her instantly. She gives him one look, all the way up and down, and grins, feral.

“So this the warrior who married our very own princess,” she says. She's sharp and bold with an edge of daring.

Wells rolls his eyes. “You don't have to be so dramatic.” His voice is annoyed, but he takes the opportunity to tug the girl into a one armed hug, eyes warm and hopeful.

“This is Raven,” Wells tells Bellamy, his tone fond. “She's a menace, but also a genius.”

Raven elbows Wells in the side, but her face is soft.

“Nice to meet you,” Bellamy says, even though it feels oddly formal for this meeting. Raven snorts and doesn't answer, already ducking back behind the sheet metal.

“So, what am I supposed to be seeing here?” Bellamy asks Wells. He's not sure how anyone finds _anything_ in this place. As far as he can tell, there's no organizational system.

Wells gestures after where Raven had disappeared so Bellamy picks his way around the mess, trying not to step anything. He finds Raven leaning over a metal contraption, her brow furrowed and her sleeves rolled up. Wells steps up beside him, grinning from ear to ear.

“That's it,” he says, and Bellamy takes a moment to try to figure out exactly what “it” is, but it becomes clear pretty quickly that that's not going to happen.

“It's...?”

Raven snorts again, and straightens up. “This,” she announces, “is going to be the first functioning shower on Earth in a very long time.”

“That we know about,” Wells amends.

“Fuck off, we're not adding that to the description, it ruins the aesthetic,” Raven says forcefully. Bellamy must look blank, because, they're both looking at him with expectant faces and he doesn't know what they're talking about. Raven lets out a long suffering sigh.

“Okay,” she slaps her hand on the side of a piece of the project. “This is a tank for water. It gets heated by the wood stove part,” she gestures at another piece. “I've put this handy little gauge on it here,” she taps another piece, “so you can check the temperature. And when it's warm enough, you pull this lever,” she demonstrates, “and bam, you've got warm water falling on you.”

A shower. Right. Clarke had mentioned them a couple of times, how she missed them, but he didn't really get why. It's not like they aren't clean down here. They _bathe_. Having hot water pouring on you just seems inconvenient.

Wells seems amused by Bellamy's expression. “Clarke told me she missed them,” he explains. “It's not worth making a ton of them, they can only hold enough water for one quick shower at a time, and it takes forever to heat it and you really can't get as clean as a bath because you run out of water so fast, but it'll make her happy.” Wells shrugs. Bellamy has a sudden rush of affection for this young man who clearly cares about Clarke _so much_.

“Good,” Bellamy says, a little lost for words. “She'll love it.”

“It would have been done on time for the wedding, but Raven's never happy,” Wells grouses and Raven aims a gentle kick at his calf.

“Hey! I don't even know this chick and you're getting free labor out of me. You had the idea, but _I'm_ the one who executed it.”

“And I'll be sure to tell Clarke that,” Wells grins.

“Yeah, yeah,” Raven waves his words away. “Don't you two have work to be doing?” Bellamy and Wells make eye contact and shrug as one.

Raven rolls her eyes. “Well I do, so get your asses out.”

They do, with a little additional shooing from Raven and when they're far enough away from her tent that Bellamy's sure Raven won't overhear, he nudges Wells with an elbow.

“So, you and Raven?”

Wells looks away and hunches his shoulders. “We're friends.”

“You don't sound that confident about it.”

“She's pretty cool.”

Bellamy laughs. “Okay, sure, that's how you feel about her,” but he takes mercy on Wells and lets the subject drop.

It's quiet the night before Clarke is to leave for the peace talks. Bellamy knows there isn't anything else to say about them, but the air feels full of the knowledge that she's leaving, that she can't guarantee that she's coming back. She'll have an escort, a couple of the guard, but she won't have him, and the sky people wouldn't stand a chance if his people turned on them.

“It's only a week,” Clarke says. She's not looking at him, sitting crosslegged on their bed and leaning close over the notebook Lincoln had given her, months ago now. She never lets him see what she's doing in it, so he's been banished to the stool next to an old oil lamp and is taking the time to patch a hole in one of his shirts.

“You don't know that,” he responds. He can't take any of this for granted. He's learned that over his hard life on the ground. He's anxious and unsettled and he knows he'll stay that way until Clarke is back here, safe again.

“So,” Clarke says, closing the notebook and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

“So?” he asks.

“You're going to spend my last night here for a week across the room mending clothes?” She asks, eyebrows raised, a challenge on her face. He barks out a laugh and sets his things aside, crossing the room to join her on the bed. He settles his weight over her, the way she likes and Clarke twines her fingers into his hair.

“I don't want to leave you,” she tells him, eyes soft and her lips tugging down in a frown.

“I know.” Bellamy kisses the corner of her mouth, determined to tease the frown away.

“I just wanted to make sure you know,” Clarke murmurs in between kisses. “I really don't want to leave you.” It's not without good reason, he knows, Clarke's tendency to constantly reassure him of her love, because he _had_ doubted that for a time, but he knows now, can feel it bone deep.

“I _know_ ,” he says again, firm and sure, as rolls them over, so Clarke's straddling him, looking down a him with mussed hair and swollen lips and bright eyes. “But you're always welcome to try to prove it,” he adds. Clarke's grin goes downright wicked.

Two days after Clarke leaves, he gets a message from Lincoln in the form of one of the ambassadors from his village. The boy is young, clearly a newly made warrior, and he's been brought along mostly for training purposes.

He looks up at Bellamy with wide eyes. “Lincoln asked me to give you a message.”

Bellamy wonders what this kid sees when he looks at him. A disgraced war chief? A traitor? Just another sky person. Bellamy nods at the boy to continue.

“He says Octavia's insisting on joining the troops that will be leaving as soon as the snow melts. He thinks you should come speak to her before she leaves.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy nods at the boy, effectively dismissing him. The problem is, he can't go visit Octavia, for same reason he couldn't go with Clarke. What he wants, more than anything in the world, is to have a solution for this war. It's senseless. They aren't fighting _for_ anything, just wounded pride and betrayed trust. He can't let his sister go back to that, but he doesn't have any choice.

He spends his free time in the week Clarke is gone hanging out in Raven's workshop with Wells, laughing while Raven scoffs at the boys and watching Wells and Raven dance around each other. It's all he can do to not dwell on Clarke's absence. Besides, he hadn't realized how much he missed the camaraderie of having people, outside of his relationship.

Raven finishes the shower the day before Clarke comes home and they spend the afternoon installing it into Bellamy and Clarke's quarters. Raven insists on making it easily removable, so that they can take it with them if they move, which adds an extra two hours of her fiddling and cursing at Bellamy when he gets in her way.

“I was _trying_ to help,” Bellamy grumbles and rubs at the spot on his shoulder where Raven had accidentally smacked him with a wrench when he'd gotten too close.

“Badly,” Raven comments.

“This is going to bruise,” Bellamy complains, more to get a rise out of Raven than anything.

“That's your own damn fault,” she says predictably and Bellamy doesn't have a chance to answer before Wells shows up with lunch for everyone.

“It's going okay?” he asks.

“Yes, no thanks to Bellamy,” Raven responds, taking the food Wells hands her, grinning brightly. Wells chuckles, and Bellamy elbows him the shut him up, which isn't particularly effective, but his chest feels light and Clarke is coming home and for a moment, he forgets about the fact that his sister might be marching back to war any day now.

Clarke gets home in the early hours of the morning, and he wakes up when the door opens, sitting up fast, his heart pounding, his instincts kicking in. He barely registers it's her, and everything's fine, before she throws herself into his arms, sighing hugely.

“I missed you,” she breathes.

Bellamy presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you too. I take it everything went well?”

Clarke burrows closer to him. “Well, we have an alliance and I didn't stab anyone.”

“Sounds like a good trip,” Bellamy teases, his eyes feeling heavy again.

“You didn't manage to get into a mess without me, did you?” Clarke asks, pulling out his arms to shrug off her coat, setting it gently to the side. She stands up to kick off her boots, and Bellamy lies back against the furs, watching her in the low light.

“Why do I feel like you'll be disappointed either way?” he asks. Clarke grins and shrugs as she strips her pants off, and leaves them on the floor, her shirt and bra following. She crawls back into to bed with him, pressing herself close.

“Wells has a present for you,” Bellamy says sleepily, knowing it will be impossible to hide from Clarke as soon as she wanders into the next room.

“Why?” she asks.

“Belated wedding gift. We'll tell you all about it in a few hours.” He yawns, and Clarke wraps an arm around his waist.

“Sounds perfect.”

Three days later Bellamy finds himself standing outside his village, heart in his throat. Clarke had insisted he come see Octavia before she leaves the moment she'd found out, brushing off his concerns that he and Clarke had been separated enough recently.

“It'll only take a day and you'll hate yourself forever if something happens to her and the two of you haven't made up,” she'd said, sounding determined and he'd known she was right. “Besides, she'd continued. I'm gonna get this whole shower thing perfect and when you come back you can finally understand why I missed them so much.”

Clarke had practically tackled Wells when the shower had been officially unveiled, grinning from ear to ear. Raven had declined to be present and Bellamy had assumed she was in her workshop, tinkering away. Maybe it's a good thing he'll be away for a day. It'll give Wells and Clarke a chance to catch up. Bellamy is aware he's been monopolizing her time a bit, but, they're newly married. It's hard to be away from her when he could be with her instead.

He doesn't bother to knock before he walks into Octavia and Lincoln's hut. He knows for a fact that Lincoln's out hunting, having passed him on the way into camp, so he's not afraid of interrupting anything. Octavia's sitting on the furs, sharpening her sword, but she looks up when he walks in and isn't fast enough to hide the surprise on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, sudden, and Bellamy tries not to flinch at how cold her voice sounds. His eyes stray to the cradle in the corner, where he can see his niece swaddled in blankets and sleeping.

“I wanted to talk,” he says slowly, shifting his weight between his feet and forcing himself to look Octavia in the eyes.

“Why bother?” Octavia snaps. She gestures at him. “You're a sky person now. By our own laws you're part of a new family.”

The words hit him in the chest, but he forces himself not to flinch. “O...” he says slowly. “Clarke is my family, but you still are too. Nothing can ever change that.”

Octavia puts her sword down and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you even begin to understand how exhausting it is to care about you? To watch you blindly trust someone we all _knew_ we shouldn't trust over and over and now you're _hers_. You're bound to her _forever_ and I can't protect you from that. I just have to watch you get ripped apart again.”

Bellamy takes a deep breath. Octavia loves him. She means well. “It's not like that, O. It's not like I just belong to her and I'll do whatever she wants. We're partners. She loves me back.”

“I know you _think_ that, but-”

“-No.” Bellamy interrupts her. “I know her better than you do, O. I get that you want to protect me, but that not what I need. I need you to _trust_ me. Trust that my faith in Clarke isn't there for nothing. That's all, okay?”

Nia stirs and begins to cry before Octavia has a chance to answer and she busies herself with her daughter, scooping her up and rocking her, urging her to settle. Bellamy watches the two of them, emotion swelling in his chest. He has a niece and he's barely gotten to see her. His sister turns back to him, once Nia's settled.

“Do you want to hold her?” she asks, slow and a little unsure. It's not an admission, but it feels like one and Bellamy nods wordlessly and takes the baby carefully from Octavia's arms. He's held a fair number of babies over the course of his life, obviously Octavia and then other children in the village, but it's been a while and looking down at Nia and seeing his sister in her expression is something he isn't prepared for. His throat goes tight.

“Why are you going?” he asks, not looking up from Nia. “They wouldn't make you go and you have a child, now, O.” He doesn't understand why his sister would march back off to war with what she has here.

“I have to,” she says, and a glance at her face says she feels uncomfortable. “I'm a Wolf, Bell. It's just who I am. I wouldn't be me without it.” Bellamy closes his eyes and absorbs the words, but he knows she's right. He and Octavia have never been the same.

“Promise to be careful,” he tells her. Octavia smiles, sad.

“I love you too, big brother,” is her answer.

He doesn't feel _good_ when he gets home to Clarke, because he can't ever feel good about the position his sister is putting herself in. But he feels better. The sky people are in a bustle, getting prepared to hold up their end of the deal. They send off fifty guard, to begin with, and in return they get supplies. It's not a bad trade, that Clarke's managed to work out. There's enough work to do, getting everyone in shape, that he doesn't have a lot of time to worry.

He doesn't even realize that Clarke is slightly threatened by his friendship with Raven for a full week. To be fair, there isn't tension between them. The two girls get along incredibly well, fast friends, so it doesn't immediately become obvious to him. It's little things, really, that he starts to pick up on, the way Clarke goes quiet when he and Raven tease each other, the way she loses the light in her eyes when he and Raven are talking. It doesn't add up until he mentions her in passing to Clarke one evening and her shoulders get tense.

“What's going on?” he asks, turning to look at her, sitting on the bed and unlacing her shoes.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her voice a little too light.

“Raven. You keep acting odd about Raven.”

Clarke looks away. “It's stupid, okay? I know it's stupid.” Bellamy crosses the room to sit next to her, taking her hand and linking their fingers.

“Tell me anyway.”

“She's just...” Clarke looks frustrated for a moment. “Perfect. She's _perfect_.”

“And,” he coaxes.

“She's beautiful and smart and funny and nice and you two get along to so well and it just seems like... You didn't get along with me that quickly. It took me weeks of trying to get you to smile like that.” She shrugs. “Maybe if she'd been the one to come down here when I did, you'd be married to her right now.”

“Clarke...” Bellamy doesn't know if he'll ever be able to make her understand that she's _it_ for him. That she has been pretty much since he first saw her. “I'm only like that with her because of you.”

She looks at him, eyes liquid and unsure. For someone as strong and assertive as she is, the amount of self doubt she carries still stuns him. It's easy to forget she can be fragile, too.

“I hadn't let anybody in for a very long time. And then I met you, and I realized that maybe I _could_ let people in. It's only easy to be friends with her because you taught me how to be more open first.”

Clarke sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” he objects, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I love you. I don't care if you need me to say it every five minutes. I'll do it until you never ever doubt it again.”

Clarke leans forward and kisses him. “I don't doubt it,” she says after she pulls back. “I just keep thinking... what if?”

“What if doesn't matter,” Bellamy shoots back. “We're here. This is how it is.” He traces his fingers over the tattoo on her wrist. “It's us, now and for the rest of our lives.”

“For the rest of our lives,” she echos, their tattoos pressed together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so there's one more chapter after this and then it's done. I'm a little sad to leave this story behind, but I also recognize that I'm losing steam on it (note the long time between chapters) and I'm just proud that I'm going to finish it, and not leave it hanging. 
> 
> Like always, this has been minimally edited because I finished this chapter around 3:30 am this morning, so I'll be slowly working through and making corrections over the next few days. Sorry for the typos! 
> 
> EDIT: I DID CHANGE MY USERNAME. I HAVE CREATED A SECOND ACCOUNT WITH MY OLD USERNAME TO DIRECT PEOPLE HERE IF THEY GET CONFUSED, I HOPE THAT HELPS. On another note, I'm thinking of changing my username on here to match my tumblr (grumpybell), but I feel a little tentative because I know it will break links to my account. How much of a mess do you guys think that would be? Please, if you have any thoughts on this, let me know! 
> 
> You all have been lovely, encouraging, patient readers, and for that I thank you! 
> 
> come be my friend on [tumblr!](http://grumpybell.tumblr.com/)


	17. Young

_"If this is all there is, don't wake me for the fight._  
_I'd rather be alone, asleep, not worry for a break tonight._  
_Oh, to know where secrets go._  
_We could start a fire and watch it grow._  
_We could bury our shoes and wait for rain,_  
_'til the summer takes us home."_

 

 

Clarke likes Raven way more than she probably should, considering how mediocre she feels next to the girl. Raven is exceptional in pretty much every manner, genius smart, tough as hell, and gorgeous to boot. If Clarke didn't admire her so much, she might hate her.

As it is, it's impossible to hate Raven Reyes and Clarke finds herself gravitating to her. She's sharp and teasing with Bellamy, a little softer with Wells, and with Clarke she's just honest. It's something Clarke appreciates. She's never had a lot of friends, less that are girls, and she's still aching at the loss of her friendship with Octavia, and Raven helps. She's _not_ Octavia, but that's all for the better. Clarke doesn't want a replacement, is still holding out hope that one day she'll be able to repair what's been broken between her and Octavia, she wants a companion. She's someone who Clarke can talk to, someone outside of Bellamy and Wells. She likes Raven's 'no bullshit' attitude. Clarke's always careful with what she says, always looking for the subtext of other people's words, and it's exhausting. Raven says exactly what she means and if she wants to hide something, she just refuses to say anything at all. There's a comfort in that, knowing exactly where you stand with someone.

And then there's Raven and Wells. Clarke's pretty sure they think they're being discreet. Raven waves it off anytime Clarke brings it up. Wells, just goes quiet and carefully studies his shoes. But Clarke isn't stupid. She's known Wells her whole life and she knows exactly how much he likes Raven. It's a lot. For her part, Raven is a little harder to pin down. Clarke hasn't known her long and she sometimes puts out a tough, posturing exterior. She brushes off Clarke's questions with sarcasm and jokes and Clarke lets her. It won't change anything.

She wants to be happy for them. She is. She just... She worries about them too. They're both fantastic people, as far as Clarke is concerned. Raven draws out Wells' teasing side and he seems to soften her edges, but Clarke knows now that it takes a lot more than chemistry to make a relationship work. She hopes they can make it. The ground isn't easy on people. She wants this to work for them.

Raven reminds her that life can be tragic in space too, with a story about a boy who wanted so badly to be good, but was too selfish to manage it. She never says what happened to him, but Clarke knows the look in her eyes and she doesn't have to say anything at all. Loss is universally recognizable.

“You know those people who are all ideals and optimism and see the good in everyone?” Raven asks her, fiddling with the metal bird that hangs from the chain around her neck. Clarke nods. Wells is like that, and she hopes Raven can see it.

“He was like that. He saw it. But he couldn't live it.” And that's all the difference. It settles her fear a little bit. Wells lives up to his own ideals every day. She should probably spend more time worrying about her own problems than her friends. It's a good distraction, though, focusing on Wells and Raven when she's got something else, something bigger, hanging over her head.

Clarke is pretty good at ignoring a problem, dismissing signs when they scare her. She learned it from years of watching her mother, inherited the habit. She's done it before. She knows when she's started doing it again, but this is something that's hard. It could be wonderful. It's still terrifying.

She'd only been tired at first and that's not really anything new. It had just been a little more pronounced. Then the nausea had set in and it had taken her all of two days to be pretty sure. She's not an idiot, but she hadn't been expecting this. They haven't been careful, but Clarke hadn't thought they needed to be, not with the implant. It turns out she was wrong. She hasn't taken a test, hasn't gone to see her mother for a confirmation. She hasn't even allowed herself to think the word _pregnant_ or _baby._ It's fast, too fast, really, but Bellamy loves kids, will be happy as long as she is. Clarke thinks she is. She just needs a minute to figure it out.

Of course, Raven notices there's something off about her immediately. She hasn't made it five minutes into breakfast before she's tilting her head, looking at Clarke with sharp eyes. Her first instinct is to ask _what?_ But Clarke knows exactly why Raven's sensing something and she isn't ready to share. Bellamy should be the first to know anyway, but it will probably end up being Abby, because there's no way she's saying anything until she's 100% sure.

“Are you okay, Clarke?” Raven asks, finally, and Bellamy's head snaps up from where he's eating next to her, eyes searching.

Clarke looks away. “I'm fine.” It doesn't sound convincing and she's pissed at herself, because she's usually quite good at lying. She just hadn't expected to be questioned. It's not like there's any physical evidence of her condition yet.

“You sure?” Raven prods and it's not really Raven that Clarke is concerned about. She can brush off the prying questions. It's the fact that Bellamy hasn't said _anything_ , and is just watching her intently. It means she's definitely going to hear about it when they're in private. His fears will be much harder to ease.

“Really. I just didn't sleep well last night,” Clarke tells her. It's even true. She'd been too busy thinking, worrying, wondering, trying to figure out how she feels about _this_. She'd thought she had more time, years, before this would come up. She doesn't see how she can tell anyone else about it when she has no idea how she feels.

All her thoughts keep circling back to one thing. They're in a war. This isn't a safe time. This isn't an easy time. Nothing feels settled and she doesn't know how to think about moving forward, building a life, starting a family, when it could all be taken from her so easily. She doesn't want to have a baby in a war. But she's pretty sure she wants this baby. The only solution, Clarke decides, is to find a way to win the war. Easier said than done.

Just as she'd expected, Bellamy confronts her that night.  
“I know something's bothering you,” is his opening line.

Clarke blinks up at him. She's sitting on their bed, trying (and failing) to darn a pair of her socks. Bellamy would have done it for her if she asked, but she'd wanted to prove she could. So far, she's only made the hole bigger.

“I'm not saying you have to tell me.” Bellamy sinks onto the bed next to her, fiddles with the ball of wool yarn sitting next to her. “I just want you to know that you can. Whatever it is.”

“I know.” Clarke sets the sock in her lap. She doesn't bother to deny her fears. Of course she's going to tell Bellamy. Just not yet. “It's just something I need a little time to think about.”

“Just...” Bellamy takes a deep breath. “You're alright, aren't you?” Clarke recognizes the look in his eyes, a haunted one from the first days he was recovering from the illness he'd believed would kill her. Clarke can't let him have that fear.

“I'm alright,” she says slowly, evenly. She doesn't want him scared, and she'll tell him everything to avoid it if she has to, but... She wants to be sure. She doesn't want to start a fuss for nothing. She isn't ready to face it.

Bellamy's gaze is searching, measured. “Okay,” he says finally. She doesn't feel great about it, but then, she's not really feeling great about _anything_ these days. She's confused, and she knows it.

Clarke knows, logically, that she'll feel much better once she deals with it. She hates this weird feeling of hanging in suspension, no confirmation, just a strong suspicion and it would be so easy to fix. All she has to do is go to her mother, take a test, and it will clear up so much. It'll help her understand her own feelings. It'll make it easier to talk to Bellamy about it. She knows all this, but she can't seem to follow through.

So instead, she's sitting in Raven's tent, smiling absently while Wells needles Raven about her obsession with explosives, namely the experiments that went wrong.

“Fuck you,” Raven says mildly when Wells tells Clarke about the time Raven burned her eyebrows off. The atmosphere is light, and it would be fun, if Clarke didn't have so much weighing on her mind.

“Oh, don't worry,” Wells says, smile easy. “I have lots of stories about Clarke too.”

Raven perks up. “Oh really?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and I have lots of stories about _Wells_. I've known you since you were in diapers, Wells, don't make me use that against you.”

Raven's grin widens. “Oh, I like this.”

Clarke gives Raven an exasperated look, but finds herself fully smiling for the first time in days. It's moments like this that remind her that, whatever else is going on, she has some of the best people in the world on her side.

Wells pulls her aside as she's leaving Raven's tent that evening, his hand warm and gentle on her elbow. It's not uncommon to see Wells look serious. He's got a calm sincerity about him all the time, and yeah, he's a kind of serious guy. But Clarke thinks this look borders on concerned.

“I know Raven's asked you, and I'm sure Bellamy has, but I just need to check, okay? I'm only gonna ask this one time. Are you okay?”

Clarke blinks at him. She doesn't even know why she's surprised. Of course Wells has picked up on her stress, her distracted behavior. That's the sort of person he is, looking out for others. Even if he hadn't, Raven would have been sure to tell him. She supposes she just thought if he'd believed anything was wrong, he would have confronted her already. She sees her own mistake. Wells had been giving her space. Now he's checking in, just to be sure that's the right course of action.

“I'm okay. I know you're all worried. You shouldn't be, really. I'm not hurt or sick or depressed or anything like that. I'm just... mentally working through some stuff, being a stubborn idiot like always.” Clarke offers Wells a smile.

“Sounds like you,” he grins. And this is her _best friend_. After Bellamy and her mom, he's going to be the first one she tells. Soon, she thinks. It has to be soon. Wells wraps an arm around her shoulder and starts steering her back to the side of camp she and Bellamy live on.

“I thought you were probably okay. Bellamy would be hovering more if he didn't believe you, but I felt like I needed to check. And just to be clear, if there's anything you wanna talk about, I'm here.”

Clarke turns her face into Wells' shoulder and breathes in his familiar scent. “I know you are.”

“As long as you know.” Wells leaves her at her doorway and when she enters, Bellamy's stretched out asleep, smooth skin and soft lines. She's suddenly exhausted and she crawls into bed next to him. He stirs, pulls her close, warm and affectionate, and for the first time in days, Clarke sleeps easy.

It takes her exactly two and half more days to get up the courage to go see her mother. It's not just the thought of pregnancy, but of admitting to her _mother_ that she may be pregnant. It's not like she thinks Abby has any illusions about what goes on between Clarke and her husband, but... The pregnancy hadn't been intentional and Clarke feels her mother will inevitably judge her for that, like Clarke should have seen the failure of the implant coming.

To keep it as painless as possible, Clarke marches straight into her mother's makeshift office and immediately says, “I think I'm pregnant.”

To her credit, Abby's face only shows shock for a brief moment. Then she goes into doctor mode, asking about Clarke's last period and quizzing her on her symptoms.

“We have limited supplies, but I can still run a test.”

“Please,” Clarke says. It doesn't feel real.

She waits in her mom's office while Abby analyzes the test results. She doesn't want to watch her mother's face, calm and perfectly collected. It will make her more nervous. Instead, she stares at her shoes, one hand on her stomach, waiting.

Abby doesn't leave her to stew. “It's positive,” she says in a neutral tone, as soon as she walks back in. She'd been expecting it, but it's still a bit of a shock.

“Right.” She's glad she's already sitting down. It's not like she didn't already know what was coming, on some level at least. Abby's confirmation makes it suddenly, solidly, real.

Her mother takes the seat next to her and Clarke vaguely notes that it feels like a miracle that Abby's kept her mouth shut this long. She startles a little when Abby takes her hand.

“Do I need to talk to you about options?” she asks, more tentative than Clarke can remember hearing her mother. She finds herself shaking her head, almost violently.

“No. I'm keeping it.” She's never felt as sure as when those words come out of her mouth.

“I expected so.” Abby's voice is careful. “What did Bellamy say?” Clarke chances a glance at her mother, to find her neutral doctor face is still on.

“I didn't want to tell him until I was sure,” Clarke says slowly. “He's going to worry.”

Abby snorts. “That's probably putting it mildly.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows.

“You forget that I saw what he was like when you were unconscious. And I didn't even know you were a couple at the time.” Abby shrugs and Clarke finds herself biting back a smile. If there's one thing she's sure of in all this, it's Bellamy. She's a little thrown by Abby's attitude, though.

“You're being weirdly cool about this.” Clarke figures it's best to just bite the bullet.

Abby sighs. “You're young, Clarke... but it's become pretty clear that you're determined to do things your way. And you're _married_ , baby. You have a husband and a life that's very independent of me. I'm trying to figure out how to fit in to that.”

Clarke swears the tears at the corners of her eyes are from the hormones. She manages to get out a muffled thanks. Abby runs a hand through Clarke's hair.

“Why don't you take tomorrow off? I can get Marcus to give Bellamy the day off too.”

“Oh, we don't need-”

“-Just take it, Clarke.” She decides it's probably the best peace offering she's going to get.

She plans to tell Bellamy about the baby during their time off the next day, but she wakes up (thankfully not nauseous for once) to see him poring over maps on his desk in the corner. He's been doing that more and more frequently.

“Bell, you don't even have work today, come back to bed,” she whines. She misses his body heat and his skin against hers and his heartbeat as a soundtrack to her morning.

“In a minute,” he mumbles in a distracted tone.

“You aren't going to solve it by staring at some maps,” she tells him.

“Octavia leaves next week,” he says, instead of answering her.

It spurs Clarke into movement, up and across the space between them, pressing herself against his back, still sleepy, but at least close. She can feel Bellamy sigh, deep and sad. Everyone's trying to figure out a way to win the war, but the truth is, nothing's changed. She's not sure there's anything else to do.

“The passes?”

“Mostly open,” Bellamy tells her. We've already got our first line there, but we're camping out on our side. It's always dangerous when the snow's still melting. If they want a fight, they're going to have to come to us.”

Clarke presses her forehead to his shoulder. “You know, I read in a history book that west of here there are mountains that are so tall and it's so cold, the passes are only open maybe one month of the whole year.”

Bellamy lets out a small dark amused huff. “Too bad we're here.” Clarke frowns. She needs to tell him, but she doesn't want to do it while he's in a mood.

“Let's go for a walk,” Clarke suggests. “You can brood outside just as well as you can brood in here and I need some air.”

Bellamy frowns and grumbles, but shoves his feet into his shoes, so she takes that as an agreement. It's early, Clarke hadn't realized how early until she sees how quiet camp is, but that's probably good. She still plans to tell Bellamy today, as long as his mood lifts a bit.

The morning is brisk, but the air isn't as sharp as it's been for the past few weeks and Clarke finally believes what everyone's been saying about spring. She feels equal parts relieved and nervous. She steers them to the perimeter of camp because she doesn't want to do this where there's a possible audience, but she can tell Bellamy is feeling nervous.

“Where are we going?” he asks, soft, but eyes scanning the trees, wary.

“ _Out_ ,” Clarke says. “We have a truce, Bell.”

“I _know_ ,” he grumbles. She would tell him to stop worrying, but she knows it won't do any good. Bellamy wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't have at least one thing to worry about. He doesn't seem to be getting any more cheerful, but Clarke's not sure she can put this off for long, particularly since she's starting to feel like she might need to find a bush to vomit into. Morning sickness really is the worst.

She pauses, takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to settle her stomach. Bellamy gets a few feet past her before he realizes she's stopped and backtracks. Now it's her he's worrying about, hand on her back and asking if she's okay a little urgently.

“I'm fine,” Clarke tries to assure him. “Nauseous.”

Bellamy is rubbing circles on her back. “Do you need something? Was it the meat from last night? I can-”

“-I'm pregnant.” She didn't mean for it to go exactly like this and she looks up to find Bellamy, mouth still open, looking stunned. She probably could have chosen a better time.

“You're...”

“Pregnant,” Clarke confirms, starting to feel nervous. She knows Bellamy will adore their kid, but... this is still scary.

“You're sure?” She's never heard Bellamy so breathless.

Clarke nods and there's a smile breaking on Bellamy's face, a little tremulous, but bright all the same. He brushes a tear out of the corner of one eye, breathing deeply. She can still see edges of disbelief on him.

“Yeah?” he asks. And Clarke can't help but laugh a little bit at his disbelief and excitement.

“Yeah. We're having a baby, Bell.” Bellamy shakes his head, but he's laughing, incredulous and sweeps her up into a hug, pulling her close in his arms.

“Fuck,” he mumbles into her hair. “I mean, I'm so happy, but holy _fuck_.”

Clarke snorts. “I know. That was pretty much my reaction as well.” She can feel Bellamy's smile against her temple and for just a moment, everything is perfect.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy didn't expect to be one of those guys who can't leave his pregnant wife alone, but here he is, hovering over Clarke and trying not to infuriate her with his questions and offerings of help. Clarke had laughed and told him _of course_ he was the hovering type when he'd brought this up. Bellamy had only taken mild offense. He suspects Octavia would have said the same thing. It doesn't matter that it's impossible to even tell that Clarke is pregnant yet. He just can't help himself.

It's still early, so they haven't acknowledged it publicly. Clarke had told Wells, which means Raven probably knows. So that, plus Abby, is as far as the news has gone. He hopes. He doesn't want it to be made public until they're past the first trimester. It just seems like tempting fate.

Raven shoots him knowing smirks, but he's too distracted by the combination of worry over Octavia and Clarke to care much. He feels like he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. What's the rule of threes? As if he needs something else to stress over. Clarke had tugged at a curl and told him he was going prematurely gray. He's only 90% sure she was joking.

He starts spending more time with his maps. Not that they're any help. He already knows them all by heart and the issue is still the same.

“It's such a simple problem,” Bellamy says, head starting to hurt. Clarke's in bed and he wants to be too, but he knows he'd only lie awake. “It should have a simple answer.”

Clarke sits up, suddenly, eyes wide. “That's _it_ ,” she breathes.

“What?” It's clear he's missing something. He just has no idea _what_. Clarke throws off the furs and jumps up, tugging on her pants, brushing her hair away from her face impatiently.  
“A simple answer!” she exclaims, darting out of their rooms barefoot. Bellamy curses and goes after her, stuffing his feet in his boots and stumbling behind Clarke's receding form. He catches up to her after she's burst into Raven's quarters, frozen in the doorway. Bellamy comes up to her shoulder and catches a glimpse of Wells hastily buttoning his pants. Clarke seems to have lost some of her steam and Bellamy can see a blush on the back of her neck.  
“Okay, I'd come back later, but this is really important,” Clarke says quickly.

Raven is glaring at her, in her bra and underwear and not bothering to cover up. “It fucking better be.”

“I need you to make something explode,” Clarke says. Raven's eyes light up, her annoyance forgotten. It's probably the best thing Clarke could have said to make up for interrupting this.

“Done. What are we blowing up?” Raven asks, a dark, burning edge to her voice.

Clarke's answer is triumphant. “A mountain.”

Bellamy barely registers the surprise in Raven's eyes, before he catches Clarke's arm and turns her around to face him.

“Hold on. Slow down. Explain.”

Clarke lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why are we in a war, Bell?”

“Because the mountain tribes broke the treaty and-”

“-No. I mean, we haven't been in a war for months. Why are we about to be in one _now_?”

He blinks at her. “Because the passes are melting.”

“Exactly. The war stopped because the passes were blocked. What happens if we block them permanently?” Clarke asks. He doesn't answer, but he knows she doesn't need him to. The answer is obvious.

“Can you even do that?” he directs his question at Raven.

“If I have the right supplies.”

Clarke grins, wide and fierce. “And I know where to get them.”

It turns out the Ark wreckage does indeed still have the bombs they'd nearly dropped on Bellamy's people. Well... they have the _parts_ for them. The Council had ordered them dismantled before they brought the Ark down. No one thought it was a good idea to crash the station into the ground with live explosives.

Bellamy thinks it all looks like a pile of junk, but Raven's eyes light up when she gets a look at the pieces, so he takes that as a good sign. She kicks him out of her workroom almost immediately.

“I will get nothing done if you're here worrying I won't finish in time to keep your sister from having to go fight,” Raven informs him. “Clarke can stay.”

He protests but ends up outside with a gentle assurance from Clarke that she'll let him know all about Raven's progress that night. He doesn't think he's being unreasonable. Anyone in his position would be eager to keep their family safe.

“All that stress isn't good for the baby,” Clarke teases him that night, sliding fingers through his curls and trying to force him to relax.

“Very funny,” he grumbles and buries his face in his pillow. He nearly falls asleep from the gentle brush of Clarke's fingers, so he isn't sure how long it is before she says,

“Bell?”

“Mhm.”

“If we do this, a lot of the mountain tribe warriors will probably die.” Clarke's voice is very quiet. “They won't know it's coming. We'll have to pull our troops at the last moment or they might take advantage and cross over. There will be people _in_ the pass when we blow the mountain.”

Bellamy pushes into a sitting position, blinking blearily at her. “It's a war, Princess,” he says lowly. “People will die, but it will end conflict for years to come. We can't fight a war if our armies can't get to each other.”

“I know, I just...” Clarke reaches for his hand, pulls him up against her side and he wraps an arm around her. “It seems like I shouldn't be allowed to _make_ a life if I'm about to take so many.”

“Clarke...” Bellamy closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “We're doing the best we can. I think that's all we can do. And it's not _you_ who's doing all of it. This might have been your idea, but it's Raven who's putting together the explosives, and your mom and Kane and Jaha who sanctioned it, and it will be someone else to who plants it on the mountain and someone else who pulls the trigger.”

Clarke bites her lip. “Well... I asked if I could do that. It doesn't seem fair to ask anyone else to do it.”

Bellamy feels himself stiffen, has to shove down the vehement outburst that's rising in his chest because he's pretty sure forbidding Clarke to do something would only make her more determined to do it, but he's not about to let this happen.

“You can't travel to the mountain, Clarke. It's not safe. And before you start lecturing me, it's not just about _you_.” He slides a hand over her stomach. “There are warriors who are trained to go. Don't put yourself and our child at risk because you think it's fair.”

Clarke wilts a little in his arms. “How can I ask that of anyone else, though, Bell?”

“You're not. They're making that choice themselves. It doesn't always have to be you. It doesn't always have to be us.”

“I want to believe that,” Clarke says softly. He wants to believe it too.

It takes Raven a week and half to get the bombs operational, so Octavia's already at the mountain he knows, but at least she'd gone knowing what's coming. She won't get caught in the wreckage. Or so Bellamy tries to tell himself.

Raven goes because she wants to plant the bomb herself and Wells goes because Raven fails to talk him out of it. Clarke's a nervous wreck and Bellamy's hardly any better, only able to maintain any cool at all because he know Clarke needs that.

It's a clear day and even from the camp you can see the peak of the mountain. It seems like an impossible task. Mountains are forever, aren't they? He's know that peak his whole life. He can't imagine it just ceasing to exist.

“It wont' take down the _whole_ mountain,” Clarke assures him, yet again. “We don't have nearly enough power for that. We might not even be able to see the difference from here. Basically we just need a huge rock slide.”

“Yeah, only that,” Bellamy says, wry. It's still impossible to picture.

They do see it. Or the effects of it. It's near lunch time when the guards on the wall let out a cry and Bellamy stops in the middle of a bite of food, turning and watching a plume of smoke rise up into the air, thick and dark and very far away.

“Do you think it was enough?” Clarke asks, leaning into his side and gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles go white.

Bellamy thinks about her voice and her hand in his. He thinks about a princess in a glass coffin sinking under the sea. He thinks about his sister on her horse, head high, watching destruction with bright eyes. He thinks about the girl with enough fire and grit in her blood to shake a mountain. He thinks about the war that took his family and the war that's threatened to take the rest. He thinks about his child, who they might grow up to be.

“It doesn't matter,” he tells Clarke quietly. “Whatever happened, we'll figure it out.”

But three days later when Raven arrives in camp with soot on her hands and victory in her eyes, he breathes deeply for the first time in months and holds Clarke close, because Raven's smile tells him they won't have to.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay loves, that's it! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get here! I've been having a serious block with this story. Even though I had it all outlined, I just had a horrible time trying to get it right, so hopefully that didn't show too much! You've all been so wonderful and supportive! See you guys next time around! <3 
> 
> come hang out with me on [ tumblr!](http://grumpybell.tumblr.com/)


	18. A/N

**Hey Everyone,**

**Sorry this isn't an addition to the story, but just an update to let everyone know that Stars has been nominated in this year's Bellarke Fanfiction Awards in the Best Canon Fiction category! This is incredibly flattering & I'm very excited. [HERE](http://bellarkefanfictionawards.tumblr.com/post/147720433667/wow-almost-80-people-filled-out-nomination-forms) is the link to the nominations in & where you can vote in the awards (which you can do once per day through the 28th). Also, I'll Be Chasing Angels All My Life has been nominated as well for Best Modern AU. **

**I hope everyone is doing well! In other news, I have a new in progress fic called[Home](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7464843/chapters/16963818), if you're interested in reading a Modern AU Bellarke mystery fic. **

**Thanks to everyone who reads & supports my fanfiction, you guys are all awesome & your love and support means so much to me. **

**\- Erin/grumpybell**

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm being absorbed by Bellarke again. 
> 
> I took a little break for a while because I put a lot of my creative energy into I'll Be Chasing Angels All My Life and it's taken a while to feel ready to delve back into this work, but here I am again. 
> 
> I'm in school now, so I'm going to try to create a consistent update schedule. I'm currently leaning towards Friday evenings because I don't have class on Thursday, so I'm hoping to use some of that free time to write. I'm not sure yet quite how many parts this fic will have and I know for a fact there will be a couple of weeks where my schedule will be insane, but I'll try to keep you guys updated on when you can expect to see new chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely feedback from this fandom on both of my other Bellarke works! I hope you guys enjoy this one too!
> 
> EDIT: Okay, so it wasn't exactly my intention to post this last night, but I had it in drafts and slightly drunk me seemed to think it was a wonderful idea, so I guess I need to get my butt in gear and get on this fic. =)


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